


As you Sow the Rain, so shall you reap the flood

by dannyvantass, Hampermarketplace (Miki_and_company)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider's Bad Parenting, Drinking, Family Abuse, Fantasy AU, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Medieval AU, Mutual Pining, Swordplay, dave is a dumbass, davekat - Freeform, depictions of violence, it gets sexual at some point, karkat works in a bathhouse, magic but just a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyvantass/pseuds/dannyvantass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miki_and_company/pseuds/Hampermarketplace
Summary: Life has its way of challenging you. If your sister has quickly and remorselessly chosen to turn her back on the path set out for her, you're not sure you're ready to do the same. There is someone, though, for whom you would do anything. Except, maybe, admit you've fallen in love.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 31
Kudos: 91





	1. A Stranger in the Bailey

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much @sadsymphonys for beta-reading and pimping my text! 
> 
> I'll try updating every Monday, but the both of us are working so no promises! stay tuned!

“Stay focused, Dave.”

You tried your best to do that, parrying your mentor’s attacks as best as you could. Though it was still only spring, the day was warm, and the sun shone bright above the courtyard. People were buzzing about, going on about their daily tasks or simply taking advantage of a break to soak up the nice weather. A few other trainees of various abilities were practicing their skill, although most of them were practicing on dummies or other accessories.

The Seneschal usually stood out among the crowd, dressed as only the finest lords did, but for this particular occasion, he, like you, blended most easily in your practical linen gambesons. Yours, especially, was so patched up most people would believe it to be second or third hand. It was perfectly intact when you got it four years ago, but you fell and suffered slashes and cuts to it so often your maid got to perfect her mending techniques into an art.

At this point, you were struggling to keep up with the rhythm, parrying attack after attack, and you knew that you would have to land a hit soon or lose this round. You looked for an opening, and struck, but the prince dodged, and, in doing so, obtained a prime opening on your right side, where his leather-wrapped training sword hit you just under the ribcage.

Your breath was cut short, and it took all of your strength not to fall to your knees, but you still bent in two, incapable of moving, hoping to god he wouldn’t hit you a second time. Luckily, he wasn’t feeling particularly vindictive at the moment, and contented himself with lecturing you on what you did wrong, which failed to really cut through the cloud of pain that was fogging your brain. Your breath was slowly coming back to you, and you pressed your hand lightly on your side to assess the damage. Oh yeah, that was going to leave a mean bruise. It didn’t cut through the skin, obviously, as your blades were wrapped in a protective sheath of leather for practice. Dirk would have never hit you like that if they hadn’t been. You do practice bare-bladed sometimes, but even then, he would never inflict an injury which could leave permanent damage or kill you. He was already pushing the limits of conventional safety in training methods as it was.

Nonetheless, the pain of his strike was already mostly receding. It would come back with a vengeance in a few hours, when the bruise started properly forming, but for the time being you knew you still had training to do, so you were better off pushing that thought away.

Your Brother was leaning on the wooden fence of the training ring, waiting for you to give him the go-ahead.

“I’m ready,” you said, bending your knees and rising up your sword.

“Are you? I think your head is not in the game. Maybe we need to give you an extra incentive to focus,” he said.

He began to unwrap the leather strap from around his arming sword.

“We haven’t practiced this method in a long time, have we? We have been trying to focus on your ability to land a hit, and maybe that made you forget about keeping up your defenses. You need to be reminded that I could’ve killed you just then, had I been your enemy.”

It wasn’t the switch to bare-bladed combat that scared you as much as it was the tone of his voice. Playfully cold, purposefully trying to intimidate you so you would be on edge. It gave you the impression that he might want to teach you humility this round almost as much as sword fighting. You really did almost land your blow, and any fighter less experienced than your mentor would have been struck.

You may have never actually landed a blow on him, but when practicing with other squires and trainees your age, you are actually far above average. Your techniques are alright, but you biggest strength lies in your balance and ability to take a hit. You’ve fallen so much you can get back up on your feet in the same movement almost every time, and you are not easily stunned out of your stand by any minor hits.

With Dirk, however, it’s different. Much scarier. It’s because of him that you learned to get back up, to endure that strike, because he taught you that if you didn’t, he would make you pay. He himself was all offense, always ready to get you on your slightest opening.

That gave you an idea.

You stayed into your position, not unsheathing your blade as you were not quite precise enough to know you wouldn’t hurt your opponent. On the signal, you began as usual, blocking and dodging, trying to keep your stance as best as you could, letting your mentor get confident.

Then, you gave him an opening.

You chose that opening carefully, on your lower half, in a place just a little too far for you to reach him before he can reach you. Letting him cut you. You were prepared for that though, and so you didn’t flinch. You didn’t stop. You clenched your teeth and immediately turned your movement of apparent failed defense into an offense, and the split second you gained allowed you to hit a solid blow on your mentor’s wrist, making him drop his sword. Your own sword pointing at his throat secured your very first victory against him.

Panting, you finally started to feel the burning sensation of the cut on your thigh, not to mention the aching of your right side, which was worsened by your uneven breathing.

The corner of the Seneschal’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. You knew he was too prideful to genuinely be proud of you in that moment, but so was he too prideful to openly act as a sore loser.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You managed to weaponize my own restraint against me.”

You lowered your blade, your whole body suddenly filled with lead from exhaustion.

“I think that’s enough for today,” the Seneschal declared, massaging his probably painful wrist. “Continue your regular exercises, and we can have a rematch next week.”

You nodded, too out of it to say anything.

After your Brother had gone, you limped your way to the side of the courtyard, where a bench and a barrel of fresh water were left at the disposition of trainees taking a break. You leaned back on the stone wall behind you and took a deep breath before examining your wound.

“Let me look at that," a voice said, coming out of nowhere.

You lifted your head to try and see where it might be coming from, only to knock the top of it into the face of someone who was leaning towards you.

“Ow,” you said, more from indignation than hurt, putting your hand on your head. “I think I’ve gotten hurt enough today already, no need to make it worse.”

“I wasn’t  _ going _ to make it worse, you idiot! It’s not my fault you had to jerk up,” the figure said, rubbing their own forehead.

It was a boy your age, dark-skinned and modestly dressed. His hair was a chaotic mess and his thick brows were drawn in an angry expression you didn’t quite think you deserved.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“To help you! You’re hurt!” he said, gesturing to the cut on your leg. 

“Oh, well are you a doctor?” you crossed your arms and shifted your stance, stupidly putting more weight on the injured leg which made you wince, but you refused to let it show. You hated that this random guy saw you and immediately thought you needed help, you weren't about to confirm that assumption.

“No," the boy replied, sounding offended, "but I know how to clean and bandage a wound.”

It didn't seem like he was going to let this go easy. You let your arms drop and sighed, playing up the exaggeration. “Ugh, fine, do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Okay, well, no, how about you use your sword to pry out the stick you've got stuck up your ass!" He yelled, catching you off guard. "Maybe I’m not some fair maiden here to tend to your precious, knightly wounds, but let me tell you that with this attitude, you won’t bag a whole lot of fair maidens,” he said, gesturing wildly with his arms before getting back on his feet.

“What? Were you trying to seduce me?” You quipped, suddenly feeling  _ very _ interested in this conversation. He immediately started to turn red at your question.

“ _ No! _ I was just trying to display a courteous gesture of chivalry and kindheartedness, you know, as knights are supposed to do!”

“That’s not how I would describe most knights I know. But thanks, I guess? For offering to help me,” You laughed. His mention at being a knight confused you a bit, as you'd never seen him around before, and he wasn't exactly dressed as one. A new recruit maybe?

He let out a deep breath, and regained his composure somewhat. “I could help you for real if you can stop being such an ass,” he said, crossing his arms the same way you had just moments before. 

You considered this for a moment. The guy seemed pretty unthreatening, if a little verbally aggressive, but so far that had actually been pretty fun. You decided to take him up on his offer and gestured him over, taking a seat on the bench nearby. 

“Listen, I’ve had a rough day, maybe I'm not 'such an ass' everyday?” You challenged him as he knelt in front of you to examine your wound.

“ _ You _ don’t seem sure of that," He pointed out, trying to pull your damaged pant leg out of the way, which sent an unpleasant sting through your leg.

“I’m really not. I’m probably an ass on most days. At the very least I’m a bastard, in more ways than one," you divulged, aiming to sound lighthearted, but that was never your strong suit. moving on.

"What’s your name?”

“Karkat,” he said, glancing up at you briefly before studying your leg again, pondering.

“I’m Dave,” you offered.

"Nice to meet you Dave. Take off your breeches," Karkat instructed, blindsiding you.

You barked out a laugh. Letting this stranger tend to your wounds was one thing, but halfway exposing yourself to him as well as everyone else in the training area? 

"You're not even going to buy me a pint first?" You joked, grinning awkwardly and trying to dodge his request. He sighed loudly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"I  _ could _ just cut these away from the wound so I can actually tend to it, of course, but I imagine you would prefer them to be salvageable," He pointed out, gesturing to the manageable, single slit down the pant leg. 

“Maybe I should get my maid to take care of this, as usual,” you say.

“Don’t be a baby, there’s no one here but me,” he groaned and gestured behind him at the yard.

He was right. The resting area was in a corner of the yard far from most of the activity, and currently empty. Someone could come this way at any time, but it wasn’t that unusual for people here to take off some of their clothes anyways.

You didn't pull them off all the way though, only to your knees. Karkat took your towel and dipped it in the barrel of water. He squeezed the liquid onto your leg, and the sensation made you hiss, but not as much as when he started “gently” cleaning the cut with the towel.

“It’s not that bad,” Karkat reassured you. “The bleeding made it look larger than it actually is, look.”

You looked down and saw a cut that was indeed about half the size of what it looked like before being rinsed. Deep, but neat.

“It will leave quite the scar,” Karkat mused, “Unless you feel like getting stitches.”

“Nah, I don’t think that's necessary,” you said, judging from experience. “I should just make sure to try and close the wound as much as possible when bandaging. I don’t mind the scar.”

“Alright, I’ll go get you something to bandage it with,” Karkat said, getting up off his knees and heading off to.. do that, you guessed. He came back remarkably fast, with a bunch of old, linen cloth. He tore the cloth apart into strips, and wrapped them tightly around your thigh. His touch was surprisingly gentle, as far as bandaging wounds goes, and was giving it all of his attention. In order to distract yourself from whatever was going on, you started to ramble.

“Honestly I'm pretty sure that cut is going to stop hurting before my sides will. I give it three or four weeks tops before full recovery. I’ve had those kinda cuts before. They’re more inconvenient than painful, really. Once I cut my foot and the bandages kept coming off inside my shoe, not to mention that it was really annoying to walk, and that I couldn’t go in the water. I’m going to have to change these bandages twice a day anyways. It only hurts to change them the first few days when there’s dried blood on the bandages, but honestly after that you don’t even really need to switch them, you just want to keep them on there to avoid reopening the wound in your daily activity. Also, I ruined a garment of mine again. Aradia is going to be pissed. Those breeches were in pretty decent state before today, now there’s just going to be this big blood stain on it. There’s a way to make it look less bad, but it will still be visible.”

“Do you ever shut up?” is all Karkat said.

“Not really, no.” you easily admitted. Luckily he had finished bandaging you up through your ramble.

“There, now put your pants back on before it gets awkward,” he said, as if it hadn't been awkward for you the whole goddamn time.

You're quick to pull your breeches back up over your hips, and he backs away, letting you stand up and test your stance. It still hurt, of course, but you definitely felt less exposed. You smiled and gave Karkat a quick nod.

“Thanks a lot," you told him. "If there is anything I can do for you, let me know.”

“Give me a lesson,” he said, without skipping a beat.

“What?” you asked, not expecting his answer.

“You know, a sword fighting lesson. Even if it’s just the one. I’ve always wanted to know how to fight, and you seemed pretty fucking competent at it.”

Huh. Why not? He did you a solid, and it might be fun teaching someone for once.

“Sure,” you agreed, “But I'll warn you that you will never be as good as me with just one lesson. Do you have a sword?”

“No.." He said, his face falling. "I don’t exactly have the means to buy one. But I could probably make one out of wood, or…”

You stopped him, waving him off. “No, don’t worry, I’ll borrow one. I know someone who wouldn’t mind lending out his training gear," you reassured him.

“That would be really nice, thank you,” he said, clearly grateful. "When should we meet?”

You took a moment to consider his question, and settled on an answer. "I’d like to take a few days off first, but like, how about Monday? Let’s meet at one o’clock, at the gates.”

“I’ll be there!" Karkat said, immediately and determinedly. "Um.." He hesitated. "Do you.. need any more assistance? I need to get back soon, or I’ll get yelled at.” He looked uncertain, like he wanted to turn away, but genuinely seemed to care about your answer. Wild. 

“Oh, no, I’ll be fine," you quickly reassured him. "I was always going to be fine. Just go.”

"Alright! See you monday?" he asked, determination back on his face in an instant. 

"Monday," you confirmed with a nod.

You watched the boy leave for a moment, shaking your head. 


	2. Unlucky hand

Climbing up the stairs to your sister’s bedroom, you tried your best to ignore the dull aches of your healing injuries, which were only exacerbated by the overwhelming soreness of your entire body. The bruise on your side was now a dark blue, almost as vivid as if you had spilled ink on yourself, and the area was so tender that even the slight brush of your shift against your skin would remind you of its presence. Despite that, you had a hard time not deliberately poking at it like a dumbass. 

As for your thigh, the three-inch long cut itself wasn’t as much of a bother as the bandages, which loosened constantly under your movement. The bleeding had mostly stopped, even if the cut was still raw and annoyingly wide, since the bandages couldn't hold it tightly together. Your maid, Aradia, helped you as best as she could without stitching you up, cleaning up the wound and drowning it in a ointment of clove and balsam to prevent infection. In any case, there was nothing left to do but endure it and wait. 

You managed to make your way up the stairs all in one piece, and knocked on the door of Rose's chambers. After a moment, she stood in the open doorway, donning a gown you had never seen before. Predominantly grey, it was a tight-fitting kirdle with an integrated cape piece falling to her knee, decorated on its edges with gold embroidery. The most ostentatious part of the whole garment, however, were the bright purple sleeves which spurted from holes on the side of the cape piece. You had no idea such colorful fabrics existed, they had probably been imported. 

“Oh thank god, you’re here,” Rose said, feigning relief. "I was afraid nobody would come to admire my new dress.” She gestured down her body in a graceful wave, her sleeves catching the light in a way only silk could.

“I see you’re taking advantage of Dirk’s money,” you quipped, all the while admiring her new outfit. It really was stunning. Only Rose would wear something like this on a regular day. She backed out of the doorway to let you in, and gestured you to her lounging area. 

“Well, he would be ashamed to see me in anything unfit to the position in which he sees me, and as much as I do detest to obey him, I find genuine pleasure in possessing style,” she said, walking over to the fireplace and hanging her kettle over the flame.

Rose certainly possessed her own kind of style, and you were grateful that the tower of the old keep in which you lived had separate quarters. They weren't that large, but it was already insanely lucky that the two of you were even granted that much space, considering you weren't actually a part of the royal family. 

Rose’s room stood just above yours, and her taste in decoration tended towards the cabinet of curiosity style, with mystical and probably cursed artifacts displayed in every corner. With the windows being narrow slits, the fireplace or some form of lamp needed to be lit to see properly even in the middle of the day. They were like that in your own room too, but the dark drapings in Rose's exacerbated the issue. Vine patterns painted onto the wall were partially hidden by heavy dark red drapes, which almost looked black in the low light.

Despite her comment about keeping up appearances for the court, you knew your twin sister like nobody else, and you knew it was just pretense. You tilted your head, smirking at her. “Just like you find genuine pleasure in holding audience with your seamstress? At this point I doubt it's just the clothes, nice as they are.”

Rose mimicked your expression, acknowledging your assumption but unaffected as always. “I do. She is a wonder, and loves it when I pull cards for her.”

“Are you getting any better at it?” you asked, getting up and peeking under the small, dark cloth covering her crystal ball, which was sat on the middle shelf of her bookcase.

“If you break that, I’m throwing you out of the window,” she warned.

“Good luck with that,” you laughed, looking at the window slits again. Still, you let go of the fabric and sat back in your chair. Rose smiled at you with fond exasperation.

“But yes, I am getting better with the technical matters of divination." She sat down across from you, folding her arms on the table. "Just last week, I accurately predicted that Jade would catch a cold, and that our hen would successfully hatch four chicks out of ten eggs.” 

“Impressive,” you said, deadpan. She turned toward you and gave you a thoroughly unimpressed look. 

“Verifiable predictions are are a good way to measure my overall accuracy, Dave. It's much harder to read specific things in divination than vague existential ones. Although sometimes, unfortunately, it is all we get.”

You pondered this for a moment. “I think I’d like a reading,” you told her, “If that's okay. I know you’ve wanted to read me for a long time.”

“I have,” she said, quickly pulling out her tarot deck from its wooden box. “but it's important to me that you want it too.”

“I do,” you assured her.

“Why?” she asked you, setting the cards down on the table and looking at you questioningly.

“I don’t know, I guess I’d like to know my future or whatever.”

“Yes, that is the point of the exercise,” she said, rolling her eyes and straightening up in her chair. “We will do a cross reading, using only the major arcana.” she told you. 

She split the deck in two and handed you half of it, instructing you to shuffle it.

“Now think about your spirit,” she said. “I want you to feel your body, to work with the energies around you. What are they?”

“Well, there’s you, and also the fire and candles,” you said, taking a moment to name the most notable sensations, in this case warmth.

“Very good. Now blow on your half of the cards. Delicately.”

Again, you did as instructed, and afterwards Rose took back your half of the cards and gave you hers. You went through the same process with this half, and then Rose took both halves and shuffled them back together. Finally, she placed four cards in a cross on the table.

“The first card represents your current state of mind,” she said. “ Or what you really are hoping to get here.”

She turned it around to reveal a card representing a jester. 

“Ah, the Fool,” Rose said, cracking a smile. “I guess you really don’t know what you came here for. Either that, or you recently threw yourself into something that was maybe a bit impulsive and now you’re seeking advice.”

She looked up at your face with deep focus. Squinting, she corrected herself.

“No, you’re not actually seeking advice, you just have no idea what you got yourself into. There are big changes coming your way.”

You didn't expect that last part. “Whoa, what? what kind of big changes?” you ask, torn between curiosity and nervosity. 

“The kind you won’t see coming. But, presumably, that's what the other cards are for," she tells you, reminding you to hold your horses. "Now, this second card will be about your environment, and the way in which it influences you the most and shapes your destiny.”

She turned the card over. This one depicted a priest.

“The Hierophant.” She said, frowning slightly.

“What does it mean?” you ask her, eyes flicking between the cards and her face.

“Obedience. Conformity. Doing what you’re told.”

“So I should try to follow the rules?” you asked her, trying to figure out how this could be relevant for you. You weren't one to stray from your path too often, not in noticeable ways at least. Both your mind and your mouth got away from you sometimes, but it hadn't gotten you into any sort of trouble since your teens.

“You will. You might not get a choice in the matter, and at least at some point, it might even be better for you to just go along with things." Her frown deepened, an almost displeased look. "I don’t know, this one is confusing, and I'm getting mixed messages from it. Let’s move on to the next one.”

This one was upside-down, and depicted a woman in light blue robes and drapery. 

“The reverse high priestess,” Rose whispered, that same look in her eye she always had when something truly captured her interest. “This is getting very spicy,” she smiled deviously. 

“What? You can’t just say that and then not explain it to me! what does it mean? What is this card?” you demanded, starting to regret your decision to ask her to do this reading for you. You didn't need Rose of all people to know your future looked _spicy,_ both because of your relation to her and just because of who she was as a person. 

“The third card I’m pulling serves to explain the relationship between the first two, between your inner state of being and your reactions to your environment. The High priestess signifies harmony and intuition, a capacity to be in touch with your subconscious needs and desires. A reverse high priestess is the opposite: it means repressing desires or emotions, and that is somehow the connecting link between your first two cards. There is a fundamental discord between your potential and the need you have to respect the rules.”

“I don’t know, that sounds far-fetched,” you told her, confused. “You make me sound like a goody-two shoes who’s too much of a dumbass to realize what he wants.”

“You are a dumbass. But that’s not necessarily what the cards say, just me," She teased. The kettle had started to release steam, so she went to take it off the flame as she talked. "There’s a lot of possible interpretations of these cards, and I’m going with what they’re telling me right now, but I could be wrong. Maybe you’re just naive and deluded, and the system will make it right even if you don’t feel like it’s what you need. But we’ve still got cards left to interpret."

She'd set the kettle back down on its seat, a short but solid piece of tree trunk. Perusing a row of labelled glass jars on a nearby shelf, she selected a mix of dried herbs and sprinkled them into the pot to steep.

"Alright, let’s see how this situation will turn out for you.”

She sat back down and turned over the fourth card, revealing two naked people, a man and a woman, standing on either side of the card with something that looked like an angel floating between them. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Rose said, clearly pleased with herself. “I think my interpretation was correct.”

“Which card is this?” you asked her, sighing and taking the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger. Here we go.

“The Lovers," She started to explain. "It can represent attraction and love, but also choice." She straightened herself once again, and looked at you intently.

"At the end of the day, you have to trust someone, whether it’s yourself or someone else. But you always have a choice, Dave," She told him, emphasizing her last words with a smile.

A few beats pass.

“Yeah, alright,” you answered flatly. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, frowning at you again.

“Yeah, I just don’t know what to make of all of this. It doesn’t make sense, I can’t apply it to me,” you babbled. Even if you could make sense of it, you weren't sure if you wanted to. Rose sighed. 

“I’m not a perfect seer yet, Dave. I don’t have the training. But magic is in my genes, and in yours, and I know when a reading I do is right." 

You leaned back in your chair, racking your brain for anything that could explain the reading as Rose continued to explain herself.

"I can’t tell you the exact events that these cards are referencing yet, probably because there's still time to change them. I’ll probably know every specific detail of what this is referencing the second it’s too late for me to warn you of it. But for now, you’ll just have to trust me. I don’t know any more than you do, Dave.”

You sighed again. Alright. Whatever. It’s not like you lost anything doing this, right?

"Lastly, there's a fifth card to draw,” Rose said. “But that one is not random. It is an addition of all the cards we’ve already drawn. Let’s see," She trailed off, tilting her head and looking over the four cards. "The Fool is 0, The Hierophant is 5, The high priestess is 2, and the lovers is 6. That gives us...13.”

She picked up the rest of her cards and quickly found the card she was looking for.

“13 is...Death,” she said, putting down the card in the middle of the other 4. 

“Well, that’s reassuring.” you deadpanned.

“It’s not a bad card, Dave," She quickly reassured you. "Death means metamorphosis, renewal, change. One door closes, and another one opens. By the end of whatever this is,” she said, gesturing over the cards, “You’ll have grown into a different person, and that is probably a good thing.”

“Alright, but is there even one single specific thing that you can tell me? I thought you had refined your methods,” you challenged her. Mostly you just wanted to know everything you could so you could hopefully spend less time contemplating shit. 

“I suppose I can try,” she said with a sigh. 

She stood back up and took a little perfumer off of the shelf of dried herbs, stuffing it with a few different selections. She then held up the object over her candle until the scent intensified, heady and herbal, which you knew would make you both dizzy in very little time. 

She waved the perfumer over The Fool, mouthing words you weren’t able to decipher, her deep, purple eyes transfixed, as though she was trying to look through the card, inside the painted paper and into its very soul. Calling up the magnetism which made it be drawn out of the package and into its current position. You could've sworn that for a second, the figure drawn on the card was you, with your face frozen in a candid expression, juggling, before the colors of the image began shifting, dancing almost, forming abstract figures which Rose, still mouthing mysterious incantations, was squinting at. 

“I see a young man. I don’t know him, but I get a good feeling about him. There is also my room, but I am not in it. I can’t make out the other images,” she said with a hint of frustration.

She moved on to the hierophant, which flashed a face you didn’t have time process before melting into its own colors, just like the last card.

“I see your cloak, in an outstretched hand,” she said, more confidently than with her last claims. “I see you talking with Dirk about something.”

The smoke of the perfumer was starting to fog your brain, and the many questions you had about how something as simple as your cloak might be related to your fate got lost on the way to your mouth, as Rose moved to the third card. 

“Hey!” Rose exclaimed, suddenly offended. “You’re in my room while I’m not there! Why are you doing that?”

“I don’t know, Rose, it's almost like it's my _future_ you're reading,” you shot back defensively. 

“You’re consulting one of my books,” she said. “You'd better not damage it, or I won’t forgive you.”

“I won’t. I don’t even know why I would go through your books.” You said helplessly. 

“To find a solution to one of your problems, certainly,” Rose theorized. 

“Will it work?” you ask, which made you feel a bit stupid. Visions probably aren't that specific, you were just at the edge of your seat is all. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t show. Maybe.”

She moved on to The Lovers. Just like before, the image began shifting, and Rose tried to focus on it. Suddenly, she jumped and averted her gaze, dropping the perfumer on the table, making you jump. Luckily it didn't break open.

“Good god, I did not want to see that,” she said, roughly shaking her head.

“What? What!” you demanded, a little panicked. 

“You having sex!”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment. Goddamnit. 

“And before you ask, no, I didn’t see who it was with, and I’m not going to look again.” she said, eyes still scrunched up. 

“I wasn’t going to ask you!” you said defensively. You got up out of the chair. “I think I’ve had enough divination for today. I’m starting to have a headache.”

“Are you sure? There is only one card left to look at.”

“If it is going to be as literal as the Lovers turned out to be, I think I would rather not,” you replied simply. 

“I understand,” she said, “Although I’ve got to admit that this is highly unusual. I am tired as well, this method is very demanding.”

She picked up the cards and put the deck back in its designated spot. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” you muttered, “But it definitely wasn't this.”

“Reading the future is like that," Rose explained. "You can get a lot of pieces, but they are rarely, if ever, easy to put together. The only thing you can do is follow your intuition and try to see, as events unfold, how the cards may fall into place. Nothing will be as you expect, your first card was the fool, which means that the unexpected will be a major part of your journey."

You groaned loudly.

“I think maybe I'll go ask Aradia for something a little stronger than tea,” Rose said, heading for the door. “You've earned it.”

As Rose left the room, you gave yourself some time to go over the vast amount of information the reading had given you. You tried to work out what you saw on the cards, nothing but a flash of black hair remaining in your mind's eye.

Seer magic is wack, you decided


	3. the boy who wasn't afraid of wolves

There were actually two gates leading to the castle, three if you counted the one leading to the inner bailey. But you knew which one Karkat would understand as your meeting point, and that was the gatehouse between the castle and the city, overlooking the public square. 

In times of peace, that gate was opened from sunrise to sundown, for all to access the outer bailey of the castle as they pleased. On Sundays especially, the court would burgeon with the activity of the weekly market. Throughout the rest of the week, the outer bailey was never completely empty. The knights of the royal Garrison would train their squires, the young pages would play, run errands or take care of the horses, the laundresses would carry baskets of dirty shifts to the river, and guards would stand at the gates, monitoring traffic. 

This stood in opposition to the activity of the elevated inner bailey, restricted only to those who had explicit business there. Even still that place was bustling as well which you would know, living in the old keep. The five-room, thick-walled building functioned as a decent and very certainly prestigious house for you, your sister and the Seneschal-Chamberlain who was your caretaker as well as the most important member of the court. 

You were almost like a second royal family in your own keep, despite being officially at service to the King, who lived in the new keep. This castle was neither the biggest nor the smallest it could be, with its four stories and over twelve rooms--not including the chapel, which was an entirely separate building--but the convenient and accessible forest which flourished just outside the gates had made it a most appealing royal residence to a man who was, frankly, more concerned with hunting than with his politics. In the summer and fall, at least one full day per week was spent cavalcading on horseback through the Royal forest. 

The gate leading to this forest was called the Huntsman's gate. The castle’s drawbridge was the only bridge allowed to stand across the river separating the city from the woods for a league on either side, in order to prevent poaching. Although still opened during the day, as was the main gate, the comings and goings from the Huntsman’s gate were much more closely monitored. On days when the King and his court were out hunting, it could even be outright forbidden to go into the forest, for the sake of everyone’s safety.

Today however, the King was not hunting, and you had every intent of leading Karkat across that drawbridge and into the woods, where you knew of a soft, grassy clearing which would be perfect for your practice. 

For now though, you waited for him at the city gate. After much consideration, you had opted to train him with wooden swords. It was, after all, much more conventional for beginners,

even if your brother had steered you away from them since the age of ten. You brought two wooden shields as well, and the whole lot was bundled up and strapped to your back for convenience. 

You leaned against the wall, and began to look at the cloudy sky wondering why the hell you were even doing this, other than perhaps sheer boredom and curiosity. There was something in his eyes that disconcerted you when he asked you for this lesson, something eager and noble that many of the guards and soldiers from the barracks lacked, who ranged from reluctant to brutish, although you couldn’t deny the camaraderie that they shared. Maybe that’s what drew you to Karkat, the idea of having a comrade of your own, who wasn’t a prince nor an overwhelmingly stoic “brother in arms” who happened to be so much older than you, and unbelievably emotionally distant. 

But you were getting ahead of yourself again, assuming that you would even get along well enough with this random guy to become friends with him. This was more than likely going to be a one-time thing, where he would get discouraged after one hour and you would never see him again. 

“Hey, so were you planning on noticing me sometime this year or should I just leave?” a memorable voice yapped in front of you. 

You had zoned out so much thinking about this guy that you hadn’t even noticed that he had arrived and was glaring up at your face. You apologized quickly, and his expression dissipated.

“Sorry I’m late,” he added. “My job sucks.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you fumbled. “See, I was looking at the people coming and going, but then there was this bird that swooped in and snatched a mouse, just like that and I had to look, and then it flew away and my eyes kind of stayed looking at the sky, because, you know. It’s pretty impressive. Have you ever seen that?”

Great job at playing it cool there, Dave. Karkat frowned, confused. 

“No, I have not,” he said. “ Are we going to train or not?”

“Oh, yes, yeah, sure thing,” you said, almost too eagerly. “Let’s do that. Follow me.”

You walked your way inside the bailey and towards the Huntsman’s gate. When Karkat realized where you were headed, he asked why you didn’t simply use the training ward.

“Use of the equipment in the training ward is reserved for the garrison,” you said. “I have special permission, but you don’t.”

“That’s stupid,” Karkat said. “If you are with me, they should let us do whatever we want!”

You shrugged, indifferent. You didn’t know what was so great about a fence and a couple of battered dummies anyway.

“Good day, Richard,” you said, as you got to the Huntsman’s gate. You didn’t know all the guards by name, but everyone who knew anything about the armed staff knew this copper-haired twat who was the marshal’s nephew. 

“Good Day, Dave,” he answered flatly. 

He let you get halfway across the gate before going “Halt! What do you have there?” 

He pointed towards your back, just realizing something was strapped to your back.

“Just some toys, all wooden,” you said with a sigh. 

“Huh, you don’t usually fight with wooden swords,” the guard said, more intrigued than suspicious.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt myself with them,” you answered cheekily. “And I’m not going to hunt any poor beast with them either, not that I wouldn’t be allowed if that’s what I had wanted.”

You kept an easy grin on your face, and crossed your arms, challenging him to refuse you access to where you had the right to go. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” the guard said, seeming to remember that he had nothing to control against a person with royal authorization to go hunting in the woods, not to mention someone without a horse or any hunting weapons at all, a thing he would be supposed to let through anyways.

He stepped aside, and without further questioning, you and Karkat quickly headed across the drawbridge and into the woods. 

The other side of the river was purposefully underdeveloped, cleared strategically to allow for only a timber yard and a long, 10-feet wide path which stretched all the way to the other end of the King’s hunting grounds, about a day’s walk away, where a village of lumberers would help supply the city with wood. 

From this main path, dozens of subtler and narrower paths branched out and looped around the forest. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon to go off-path during hunts, but this nearly-invisible and unmapped network of passages allowed for the initiated to never get lost. 

The specific place where you wanted to go wasn’t very far, perhaps a fifteen minute walk from the Huntsman’s gate, at a slow pace. When you were young, as soon as you were allowed, you, your sister and the royal children would play for hours in those woods. Back then, there was still fear of the wolves roaming the area, and your scrawny, prepubescent self would never leave without a sword, convinced that you could protect the four of you without fail.

You laughed softly at the memory, now aware that if there had indeed still been wolves in the woods back then, there would have been no guarantee of your safety. 

“What’s so funny?” Karkat asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly. 

“Oh, nothing, just memories. Do you remember when these woods were full of wolves?”

“I remember the prioress scaring me with endless stories of child-eating wolves, but I assumed it was just meant to scare us into coming back each night before dark, and to not wander too far from the city. I don‘t think there ever were wolves in these woods, at least not since I was born.”

You laughed again. It was so odd to you that someone would have grown up so detached from everything which was common knowledge to you.

“The last wolf sighting happened seven years ago,” you said, shaking your head. “it wasn’t that long ago. I remember from when I was very young, the whole obsession with getting rid of them. I saw many wolf carcasses, and i know where some of those furs still are today. My Brother owns one of them, as a coat. Also, there is a wolf head mounted in the Great hall.”

“You’re kidding me,” he said, slowing down his pace and gazing off the path with worry.

“Absolutely not,” You assured him, moving ahead. “ I wasn’t even allowed to come into these woods until I turned thirteen because of those bloody wolves. My twin sister wasn’t allowed to come alone until she was fifteen. It pissed her off so much, because she’s somewhat of a herbalist, and she was restricted in her collections. I think that she probably sneaked into the forest anyways.”

“If that’s true then that was pretty reckless and stupid of her.”

You turned into a smaller path, stifling a grin when it took him a few moments to notice that you had. You continued the conversation as he caught up with you.

“Yes, but also I pity any man or wolf who would have tried to stop her. My sister is a shrew with more gall than a wounded boar.”

“Huh. I've had my temper compared to a wild boar as well,” Karkat said, seeming thoughtful. 

Despite the knowledge that there hadn't been any wolves for years, he seemed hesitant to follow you into the trees. You gently tugged on his sleeve, amused by the way an irrational childhood fear could have so easily been reawakened with the simple suggestion that it might have been somewhat founded. 

“I’m coming, I’m not scared,” Karkat lied, snatching his arm away from your grip. To prove his point, he kept walking on his own, and the two of you continued on your way.

“I’m offended that you think I’m not appealing enough meat for wolves to ignore eating me for the five years I’ve roamed this forest,” you teased him as he followed you along the narrow path.

“I _just_ said I’m not scared,” Karkat retorted. “At least not of wolves.”

“What are you scared of, then?” You asked him, playfully challenging.

“What makes you think I'd tell _you?_ ”

“I’m not gonna hurt or like, rob you, dude. You don’t even look like you have anything valuable on you.”

Karkat sighed loudly and you released a tree branch from the path which you had casually pushed out of your way straight into his face. Oops. 

He made an indignant noise and you couldn’t help yourself from laughing at his face.

“Okay, actually, scratch that, I’m scared of how much of a dense imbecile you are,” he growled, leaning to pass under the branch. 

Eventually you arrived at the clearing you were thinking of, right across a small stream. Years ago, you had arranged a bunch of stepping stones in order to easily get into that clearing, and after all this time, they were still there. 

You had many good memories of this place, where the teenager you were, along with John, Jade and Rose would sit on the grass and bathe in the sun, eat wild fruits and nuts and horse around, playing every game you could, sometimes even paddling in the stream on hot summer days. God, it had to be at least two years since you last did that. You’re not sure what had changed since then, because on the surface, you were all the same. And still, you supposed, it was different.

Nevertheless, you dropped the load on your back onto the ground, truly soaking in the refreshing freedom of the outdoors. Even if the sun was not shining bright today, certain places could always make you feel good.

As you went down memory lane once again, Karkat had leaned down and picked up one of the two wooden swords from the bundle, waving it to and fro so as to get a feel for it. In a parody of the combat maneuvers you knew better than yourself, he slashed the prop forward violently, cutting the air.

You laughed, since it was truly a spectacle to see someone your age wield the sword with the same gleeful incompetence as a child might. 

“Careful with that, or you’ll hit yourself!” you said, having witnessed more than your fair share of young enthusiastic pages burst into tears, victim of their own rough play. 

“I won’t hit myself with it!” Karkat exclaimed incredulously. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

You shook your head and clicked your tongue. 

“A well-meaning idiot, but one who’s clearly never held a sword before,” you teased him before explaining. “You don’t have to be an idiot to hurt yourself with a sword, it happens all the time. This one is wood, so the worst you’ll get is a bruise, maybe a splinter if you’re especially determined, but it’s still something you need to learn to watch out for.”

“I will watch out for it, now show me how to use this fucking thing instead of just standing around telling me I’m gonna hurt myself.” 

“You’re awfully bossy and cranky for someone who begged me to spend time with him,” you teased.

“And you’re awfully confident for someone who promised me a sword lesson he’s not giving me,” he snapped back at you. 

You rolled your eyes, but then walked up behind him to adjust his position. He was stiff like a stick, muscles ineffectively taunt in way that prevented you from making him stand correctly.

“You’re going to want to keep a wide, stable stance,” you said, trying to get him to bend his knees by pushing down on his shoulders. He ever so slightly yielded, but his pose still felt pretty unstable to you. Just to check, you gave him a sturdy push on the back, which sent him tripping a few feet forward, confirming your suspicions. 

“Hey!” he went. 

“Lesson one: don’t let people push you around,” you said. “Physically, I mean. Figuratively, I’m pretty sure that’s all what being a knight is about.” 

He frowned, but finally took a stance that prevented you from just tipping him over, facing you with his raised sword. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” you commented, picking up one of the shields. 

“Shields are great for not dying,” you told him, sliding it onto his arm. “Keep it in front of your core at all times. Even if you use your whole body to strike, don’t forget to bring it back in front of your chest as soon as you can. a lowered shield is a useless shield.”

You picked up the leftover equipment, before placing yourself right in front of him.

“Now, I want you to practice doing simple hits on my shield. Don’t be afraid and give it all the strength you have.”

With a grunt, Karkat slashed at you aggressively. Not skillfully, as he immediately forgot his stance taking a swing, and you could’ve easily made him fall. The force of his hit was pathetic, too, despite all the energy he had put into it. There was a thousand other little things that were wrong, but you didn’t want to scare him off or discourage him, as you knew this was pretty much exactly the result of anyone trying to do this for the first time. You felt that he was already on edge, trying way too hard to do things right with absolutely no concept of how to do that, and you just needed him to relax a bit, and focus his strength of whatever he was doing. 

“That’s pretty good, but try to stay in your stance,” you told him. “Gather the force from your chest or your shoulder, not from your wrist or elbow.”

He tried again, slightly better this time. You fell into an easy pattern, drills adapted from the kind you had seen done by young squires, teaching him the most basic attack and defense movements, and to your surprise, he did quite well. Perhaps you were too used to seeing nine or ten years old being introduced to those techniques, but it only took Karkat a few dozens of tries before getting a decent hang of any given movement. He still struggled to remember to keep his shield up, and his reaction times were incredibly slow, but after maybe an hour, when deciding to take a break, you were stunned to realize how much progress you had already made.

The afternoon was cooling down, the sky still grey and covered, and though it didn't bother you much when you were moving around, once you sat down you regretted not having put on a woolen tunic that day, rather than a linen one. 

Karkat was wearing the same dark brown tunic he had been wearing the last time you saw him, which wasn’t very surprising given that he probably didn’t own many clothes at all, as did most people. Still, the thin, well-worn yet neat wool of his tunic felt more weather-appropriate than yours at the moment. 

You drank some water from your gourd, sharing it with him. 

“So,” you began. “What’s your lot in life?”

“Mostly, being unwanted,” he sighed. “I’m a foundling, but I’m currently working at a bathhouse.”

“Huh,” you said. “How did you end up there?”

“I was raised from charity in a beguine convent, but it was getting inconvenient for them to feed and house a boy as I was no longer just a little child, so that’s how they got rid of me. The bathhouse was on the same street, and the owner agreed to give me food and shelter if I did chores for her. At some point, she decided that I should be a full-on bath maid, don’t ask me why.”

“Wait. What kind of bathhouse is it? Is it like...”

“It’s not the Brothel kind,” Karkat assured you. “I don’t think the sisters would not have let me work there if it had been. We are a respectable establishment, at least, most of the time. I guess it depends on your definition of debauchery. I wouldn’t say what happens within our walls is exactly modest, but there is no prostitution, or mixed bathing on the first floor.”

“Oh, alright then,” you said, at once reassured and confused.

The image that popped into your mind when it came to bath maids was that of seductive young women with unveiled hair and see-through dresses, and even though you knew many bathhouses ran a strictly nonsexual business, the tone of Karkat’s voice and his vague claims made it feel like at least some naughty things still went down at his place of work, although that might have just been his religious upbringing. The castle you lived in might not have been a prostitution den, but that didn’t stop laundresses and scullions from sometimes having a quick one in the granary. 

Still, for a man in a bathhouse, it was unusual to work in direct attendance of the guests. 

“What about you?” Karkat asked. “You’re a squire, right?”

“Oh no, I’m not a squire,” you said, almost wishing that was the case.

It would be so much easier to explain. 

“Do you know the Great Wizard?” you asked.

“No,” Karkat said. “Since when do we have one of those?”

“We don’t, at least not right now. We used to have one, though, and he was very powerful. Powerful enough to create life out of thin air. He died when I was six. This is all I have left of him.”

You pulled out your garnet necklace talisman out of your tunic. For some fucking reason, you always wore it around your neck. You guess the fact that Rose also wore hers’ influenced you. 

“So, you’re the wizard’s magic kid?” Karkat asked. 

“Basically. Do you know the Seneschal-Chamberlain?” 

“I know of him. Doesn’t he basically puppet the King and Queen?”

“It’s more complicated than that. I mean, he does a lot of things.”

“I heard he’s the best swordsman in the Kingdom,” Karkat added. “But what does he have to do with anything?”

“Well, When the great Wizard died he adopted and raised us,” you explained. “He doesn’t like when we refer to him as our father, he prefers to say he’s our big brother, but legally, we are the ones set to inherit his estate. At least in theory. Unless some cousin of his tries to contest that, which honestly I expect could happen. There is a lot of contestation surrounding our birthrights.”

You had opted to omit the fact that your biological father died in prison after allegedly attempting to kill the one now calling himself your brother, or the fact that your miraculous birth itself was quite contested, with rumors circulating that you were a bastard, or some stolen child, the latter of which being kind of ridiculous given the way you looked. Yes, your father came back with you and your sister after a year-long pilgrimage, but he didn’t wander  _ that  _ far east. As for the bastard theory, you aren’t sure that the timeline for that would work, as you were already a few months old when Roxy brought you back to court. In the end, you liked to believe that he was just that powerful, to the point that divine inspiration allowed him to just create you as he claimed. 

Although, if he truly was a traitor, then maybe he had lied for prestige, after all. You had many conflicting emotions surrounding your birth father. If Rose had grown to think that he  


did nothing wrong and that, as was sometimes speculated, your father had been framed, you'd have had a hard time wrapping your head around it. You just wanted to believe the man who raised you. 

“Dave?” Karkat said tentatively. “Why are you mumbling like a madman? I didn’t get any of that.”

You blinked, realizing you had gotten lost in thought, twirling the stone of your necklace between your fingers. 

“Oh, nothing, I was just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“About the fact that we’re probably never going to see each other again after this, and that it’s just such a strange thing to even have done this to begin with.”

Karkat crossed his arms around his knees, suddenly coy.

“ Well, you know, I think if you wanted, I’d like to be friends with you. Even if you’re an insufferable prick, you still bothered to give me a lesson in swordfighting, that’s not nothing.”

“That’s not a big deal.” You looked at him questioningly.

“Well apparently you’re one of the most prestigious people in the whole Kingdom. How is it not a big deal? I will always remember this, and be grateful.” Karkat had clearly meant to reassure you, but for some reason this rubbed you the wrong way. 

“Please, I don’t need this! I just told you I’m like, the son of some dead magician and I don’t even know any magic myself. If you’re going to praise me I’d rather it be because of something I’ve actually done.”

“That's fair,” Karkat sighed, “But on my honor I am obliged to repay you, in some way. Maybe if you come to the bath house, I can serve you personally. There’s private rooms for the higher status clients, of course. But I can only offer you a regular bath if you are willing to have one, I’m afraid I can’t afford more.”

Pleasantly surprised and reassured that you'd see him again, you smiled at him warmly. “Sure, I’ll visit there some time.”

Karkat returned your smile, but then scoffed.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier who you were, you know how absolutely aghast with myself I’m feeling now? I can’t believe you coerced me into being so familiar with an almost royal family member!”

“Well, Jesus, sorry I didn’t snob you like the dirty pleb you are, do you want me to spit on you now to compensate?”

“I’m not a filthy pleb! I’m an honest man!” He shouted, making you laugh again. This dude was way too easy to rile up, it was great.

“I know, calm down, I was just saying this to make you  _ feel better _ ." 

As you were ribbing eachother, you noticed a drop of water fall onto your hand. And another one on your nose, and you lifted up your head.

“Is it raining?” you asked.

“What? No it’s not raining,” Karkat answered, confused.

The drops kept coming though, and he probably received one as well because he added, surprised.

“Wait. Maybe it is raining.”

As he said that, the droplets intensified to the point of being undeniable, and you swore a bit, because goddammit, you were already cold enough like this. You rushed to gather your training weapons.

“Let’s go,” you said as soon as you'd grabbed your set. “I’m not trying to catch death.”

Your walk back was hurried, almost running as the rain soaked through your clothes and made you want to take up Karkat on his offer of a bath right then and there. You were stopped once again by fucking Richard at the gate.

“Halt! No one can come in or out of the castle.”

“What?” you mumbled, incredulous. “It’s me, Dick, let me in.”

Richard hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t the brightest recruit in the barracks, and usually Dave wouldn’t mind, but right now it was a pain in the ass.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Someone attacked the royal heir!” he said, with all the energy of someone finally knowing the answer to something. “Right outside of the stables! I have the order to not let anyone in or out of the gates!”

Your blood ran colder than your wet skin. “John! Fuck, I've got to go in, Richard, move your ass!”

Richard yielded somewhat under your panicked demeanor.

“You can come in,” he said, “but he can’t.” 

He pointed his finger hesitantly at Karkat. 

“I know for a fact that this guy had nothing to do with it, and I’m not going to leave him here for god knows how long when he’s soaked to the bone,” you yelled over the sound of the rain, pointing at your newest friend. 

Richard sighed, figuring that he would probably get in trouble no matter what at this point, and moved aside, letting you pass through the gate. 

You ran towards the inner gate, where they let you and Karkat get in with a simple “He’s with me,” and inside the new keep. John was lying right there, on one of the tables of the great hall, surrounded by a great pandemonium. Queen Jane was barking orders at distressed maids with blood all over their aprons, while Jade's face was buried in the worried King’s arms, seemingly sobbing. Another guard stood in the corner, also covered in blood in a way that suggested he was the one who had carried John all the way here. Rose, calmest of them all, was stood over John, pressing on the wound with a piece of cloth, mumbling incomprehensibly and trying to keep John awake. 

“John!” you exclaimed, rushing towards him.

He groaned, but his eyes showed recognition and gratefulness to see you there. 

“Hurts like a bitch,” he grinded through his teeth.

“Yeah, I bet,” you sighed, happy that he was at least still sort of able to talk. 

At this moment, Dirk came in with the Chaplain in toe.

“We don’t need a priest yet, he’s not dead,” Rose spat.

“This is just in case,” Dirk answered. “We don’t want to be caught off guard.”

“I’m not dead,” John mumbled. “Wait, am I going to die?” 

His voice sounded like he was losing his anchor on the conscious world. He was pale and breathing laboriously.

“No you’re not,” Rose reassured him as much as herself. “You’re just going to go through a real rough bit. It’s not fun to be stabbed.”

“Oh yeah, I was stabbed,” John seemed to recall, probably in some state of shock. “That’s why it hurts.”

Aradia came in carrying a bunch of Rose’s supplies and laying them out on the table.

“Is there at least a doctor coming?” you asked, just to be sure.

“He’s on his way,” Rose said, “ But I can make the bleeding slow down before that. Aradia, can you hold this please?”

Aradia took Rose’s place in putting pressure on John’s lower abdomen, and Rose began mixing ingredients from different bottles into a bowl. Mixing a thick, silverish liquid and a brown translucent one, it somehow created a mostly transparent liquid, with the slightest blue tint, in which she generously dipped a fresh piece of cloth.

“Take a deep breath John, you’re not gonna like this,” she said, “But it’s the best way to fix you up inside.”

Aradia took away the bloodied cloth, giving Rose the necessary space for her to apply the medicine-soaked cloth onto John’s wound. She squeezed it, causing the liquid to drip inside of him, making him scream with pain, enough that tears rolled down his temples, making you grimace.

“What is that?” you asked Rose.

“Alchemy. Something to boost the regrowth of his tissue. It’s not perfect, but in a couple of hours it should redirect his blood circulation and make him stop losing so much of it. If it works.”

“You and your witchcraft,” the Chaplain sighed.

“It’s not witchcraft, It’s eastern medicine,” Rose said coldly.

“I remember,” Jane said. “I think I remember the great wizard was able to do that.”

“He was, I took it from his manuscripts,” Rose said. “But it’s a complicated formula, and I really hope I got it right.”

“I'll pray that you did, young woman,” the Chaplain said. “For the sake and immortal soul of our royal heir.”

You wanted to stay with John, all night if necessary, afraid that if you left his side even for a moment, he would die brutally. But the shivering of your damp body, and the poor boy you had abandoned in the corner made you realize that you had to at least take care of a few things before sunset. So after having asked for Rose’s reassurance that your best friend would still be of this world when you came back, you headed for your room in the old keep, motioning for Karkat to follow you.

You sure weren’t going to take a bath now, so you contented yourself with changing into a dry wool tunic and setting your wet clothes next to the fireplace so they might dry later. You lended Karkat with another of your wool tunics, of which you had three, and he told you to keep his until he was able to give yours back. You couldn’t really give less of a fuck at the moment, so you agreed and set his wet tunic right next to yours. You then gave him one wooden sword and shield so he could practice by himself, a thing about which he complained greatly, saying you were burdening him with too many favors, until you proposed taking them back. He scampered off with his gifts, feeling like he had had the most extraordinary day of his life, and you went back to John. 

While Rose was busy arguing with the Doctor, it appeared that John’s state was already stabilizing, and that he would, at the very least, live through the night.


	4. Rose's gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday, but i forgot. Thanks to everyone who reads this! This chapter is a bit more intense, but i hope you wont hate me for it.

Ugh, your brother was being such a blanket hogger. On top of that, he had a tendency to mumble in his sleep, which was kind of cute, but bothersome when you were trying to catch some sleep yourself. That’s why it was a habit of yours to just hit him awake, when you were too fed up with him, but then when you did that, he would wake up angry and the two of you would start arguing, which would wake up your nurse who would lecture you about your uncouth behaviour. So now, when the lack of blankets made you unable to sleep, you simply took advantage of it to sneak out and explore the most fascinating and forbidden room in the keep. 

At first, you didn’t understand why this room was the way it was, unused and untouched, while your nurse still slept in the hall. Even if it was on principle, why would you be made to share a room and bed with your brother? Your nurse had told you that it was because no child should sleep alone, but you were almost ten now, and you didn’t buy it anymore. It was only the first time you snuck into the abandoned room, filled to the brim with cobwebbed artifacts of the occult, that you understood the cursed, almost holy nature of that room. 

You guessed that no one wanted to touch or interact with any of the objects displayed, and that piqued your curiosity like nothing else. 

Your memories of your father were fuzzy at best, but you did somewhat remember that man, who was always locked up in this room. Doing experiments from sunrise to sundown, occasionally coming down to have a meal, taking you on his knee, smiling and goofing. Then, one day, he was taken to the city prisons. Something he had done to The Chamberlain, this aloof and mysterious figure who always shadowed the King and Queen. Behind bars, your father still smiled at you and your brother, that one time you had been allowed to visit him. He told you that he’d always be there for you when you needed him most. Before that, you remember him giving you a small amber necklace, in the shape of a pointed rod, which you still kept around your neck almost all the time. But that was all. You had no other certifiable memory of him, and his face had become blurry in your mind's eye. Foreign traits you and your brother shared, tan skin and almond eyes, as well as inexplicably snow white hair. But of course, this room, his presence in your life still loomed over you, begging to be explored, despite everyone trying to pull you away from his legacy. 

The first time you went into his room, you were scared shitless. In the dark, the piles upon piles of elaborately crafted objects, from glass bottles to skulls, gave you a glimpse of hell, but the curiosity still won out in the end. So you had steeled yourself and pressed on. As you carefully attempted to examine every object in the room closely, you eventually stopped seeing shadows in every corner of the room, or at the very least, the shadows stopped being scary demons from hell and instead became jolly companions to your unapologetic flirting with the devil of knowledge. Of course, none of this was technically witchcraft, only crown-sanctioned magical practice, but even if it had been witchcraft, you probably would have explored it nonetheless. It gave you a feeling of being powerful and daring in a world where you had no agency over your own fate. Since that day, whenever you had been robbed of sleep, you would creep up to your father's room. By candlelight, you read his many notebooks, slowly discovering the purpose of all those mysterious artifacts. They weren’t perfect, and many things were just obscure to you. For example, the many plants that were mentioned by name, but had no pictures or descriptions as to what they might have looked like, or how to get them. Nonetheless, on every such night, you tried to memorize everything, until your eyelids felt so heavy that you had no choice but to attempt a little sleep.

This one night, however, it was hunger that pried you away from your studies. The notebook you were reading made the accounts of exotic dishes, of spices and meals that your father had encountered through his countless travels, on which he had slowly made his way from a simple son of a merchant, to a man sought after at every court for his feats. 

It had been fascinating, but the lengthy descriptions of dishes had you salivating so hard that you knew you could not go back to sleep without first eating something. You sneaked past your nurse in the hall to go into the kitchen where you could probably find some cheese and nuts. It was dark, and as you perched up on a straw chair to reach a high shelf you were not supposed to reach, where the goods were kept, you got startled by running footsteps. You almost lost your balance, and your heart jumped in your chest until your eyes caught the source of the movement in the dark.

“Oh, Jaspers!” you whispered, half-mad, half-relieved at the realization that it was only your cat trying to keep the nasty rats out of the food supply.

You stuffed a tiny bite of cheese and a handful of nuts in your mouth before taking him in your arms, and heading back for your room. Your bare feet were freezing against the stone cold floor, but it allowed you to be quiet as you passed next to your sleeping nurse. Luckily, you knew that she was sound asleep on her straw cot, wrapped in her cloak next to the dying fire of the hall’s hearth. She was a heavy sleeper, and once deep asleep, would only really wake up if someone was yelling, or shaking her insistently while crying because of a nightmare they had. Boy, your brother could be kind of a weenie sometimes. 

Halfway through the hall however, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Actual human footsteps for once, and your heart jumped. The Seneschal.

Convinced that it was your adoptive father figure, who would inevitably scold you for being up this late, you dived under the table. 

You had to admit that he had always scared you a little, with his unreadable expression and steely amber gaze. You were too young to know exactly what went down back then, but your heart told you that your father was not truly the villain in this affair, and so your resentment was almost exclusively directed at this aloof and calculating man, who regarded your despise of him with amused contempt. 

You held your breath and closed your eyes, hoping the obscurity would provide just enough of a cover. Unfortunately, right when the footsteps were getting closer, Jaspers had decided to meow loudly, stopping the footsteps in their track.

Despite feeling someone bend down to look exactly where you sat, you waited a few second before opening your eyes. 

Once you did open them, though, the face you saw in the dark was not of the blonde stoic man you had expected, but another mostly familiar face. The face of a burly man, whose dark mass of hair and sun-tanned skin was unmistakable, whether or not he wore the golden crown which signified his status. 

You almost made a noise, but he put his heavily ringed finger to his lips and you swallowed it. Instead, you whispered something along the lines of “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?” he retorted cheekily. “I don’t reckon this lovely table is your preferred place of slumber. If it is, then pardon my rudeness, I did not intend to disturb you.”

“I’m not in my bed,” you confessed to him. “But neither are you.”

“Well, to be completely fair, I was in  _ a  _ bed mere minutes ago,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “but worry not about my frolicsomeness, you’re indeed correct that I should be getting some shuteye right now, and so should you, I believe. I Shall forgive and forget your nightly escapades if you agree to forgive mine. Have we got a deal, missy?” 

You didn’t answer right away, staring straight into his eyes.

“Well?” he said, somewhat unsettled.

“I’m thinking,” you explained flatly. “I don’t make promises lightly. While I have no incentive right now to go tell the world about the fact that you are committing adultery, maybe someday it would be necessary for me to do so, and I’m considering the pros and the cons of swearing never to tell.”

He looked taken aback by your eloquence and your ability to correctly read the situation in sexual terms, which for a brief instant gave you a wonderful sensation of power, in which you could lecture him as much as he could lecture you. 

“It is not, I...who taught you those bawdy concepts, young missy?” he pathetically attempted to turn around. 

“We shall have a pact of silence,” you said solemnly, ignoring his reprimands. “and if you tell anyone I was up tonight, I shall poison your wine.”

\----

It was undeniable that your potion had worked. Even though John had been in awful amounts of pain that night, by morning he was already healed way beyond what he would have been otherwise. However, the caveat with the healing elixir which you used is that there was always a certain degree of danger to using it, especially several times a row. The neck-breaking pace at which it pushed the body to repair itself could lead to improper, messy regeneration and, in the long term, lead to a variety of ills and tumors. Therefore, you refused to apply it again just to further speed up the healing process, instead leaving John with at least a couple more weeks of convalescence. 

The first few days following John’s injury were stressful and chaotic, and yet, incredibly boring. For a week, he was not to be left unattended, and so you had to spend a few hours a day holding vigil by his bedside, entertaining him as well as possible. Dave was better at this than you were, but your regular presence was still much needed as you were the best suited to evaluate the heir's condition. 

He was going to live, that much was quickly asserted, but you also believed that he would never fully recover. He would be able to walk, and do most of his daily activities, but in all likelihood, he was going to suffer from chronic mobility issues around his lower torso, namely difficulties with chest rotations and stretching, as you noticed some unfortunately fused tissues around his wound. 

By the end of the first week, though, he was already doing a lot better. Color came back to him as the consequences of his blood loss faded. Pain and fatigue fell to manageable levels, and he could get up from his bed into a standing position with only some help. 

At this point, though, his recovery was about as close to complete as it would get, and tonight, a banquet in his honor was to be held. 

The whole castle bustled in preparation, and perhaps you should have been helping in some way, but instead you were in your room, going through your clothes, when someone knocked on the door. You quickly shoved back the pile of clothes you had picked back into your chest, before sitting on it and giving permission to come in. It was Dirk.

“It is a delight to see you, Brother,” you said with vague annoyance and apprehension. “May I ask what brings you here?”

You had an awful intuition as to why he was here. 

“Good news, Rose, good news. Well, for me anyway, your feelings on that matter might be more ambivalent. In any case, I do still believe you should rejoice.”

“Well, I can neither rejoice nor grieve so long as you do not tell me the surely relevant news,” you answered, keeping your expression as blank and disinterested as you could. This could not be good. 

“I am aware, I am aware. I know you shall understand, given your rational and practical dispositions. It would be insulting to assume you would be distraught by the wonderful opportunity which has been given to us." The Seneschal paused, and you drew up an eyebrow, just needing him to get on with it. He made his way further into your room, clearly trying to seem amicable, but it was useless to someone who truly knew him. "As you know, due to recent developments, the mortality of the heir to the throne has been put into sharp focus,” Dirk said, pacing in your room predatorily. 

“I am aware. It truly is a great thing that he was not taken away from us, as that would have led to unfortunate implications on the subject of inheritance,” you said, your stomach twisting, fully knowing where he was going with this. 

“Exactly. I have spoken to Queen Jane about the subject, and she agrees that it would be imperative to engage procedures as quickly as possible to insure succession before something...unfortunate happens.”

There it was. You took a deep breath, knowing this was probably your last chance to make your case before your fate was completely sealed. 

“Well, you are aware of our agreement that if in three years John is still not married, I will accept, gracefully might I add, to be his bride for your sake and that of the kingdom. If it makes you feel better, I am ready to reiterate that promise any time,” You said, passive-aggressively. 

You did genuinely believe in that arrangement, and you would agree to marry John if you couldn’t find a legitimate way out of it before the deadline this gave you, but you were very attached to those three years of freedom. You knew that as soon as you were to marry John, you would have to renounce every activity that public scrutiny believed unfit for a queen, which happened to be most of your activities. 

“I’m afraid that three years from now is not soon enough,” Dirk said, picking up a wolf skull that, years ago, you had engraved with runic blessings. He studied it for a moment avoidinh your glare.

“Three years is as soon as I’m willing to go,” you said firmly, standing up to snatch the skull from Dirk’s hand. “The terms to which I agreed were clear.”

“The circumstances have changed, and so the terms must change accordingly.” he said with a condescending sigh, the same sigh he gave you when he was disappointed with your childish impertinence.

“Well, what are they now?” you asked, similarly disappointed with machiavellian despotism. 

“That you will marry John before the year ends, and give the crown as many children as you can, as soon as possible,” he said. With those words, your gut filled with ice, your throat threatening to close up. 

“I refuse those terms.”

His demeanor changed in an instant, exasperation and anger palpable in his voice. 

“I’m afraid I am no longer willing to humor you, Rose,” he said coldly. The jig was up, and so you allowed your own facade to drop.

“Neither am I. You know I’m not ready to give up on magic and divination, or on my freedom in general. You are aware of my romantic inclinations, and should in no way be able to pass judgement. I am already enough of a controversial choice for Queen, I won’t have the same privilege as you do to commit adultery with impunity.” 

Infuriatingly, your words didn't seem to affect him at all.

“Who says I’ve committed adultery? I’m not even married,” he said with the least convincing smirk you had ever seen. You crossed your arms on your chest defiantly, seeing no other way but to lean into it, having to get to him, get him back. “There is no point in playing dumb with me, Dirk. I know about your affair with the King. I’ve known for a long time, but maybe it would be time for the queen to know about it as well, don’t you think?" His expression still didn't change, but you pressed on, unable to stop yourself. "I wouldn't want to make her suffer, but maybe she deserves to know the truth before she marries off her son according to the wishes of someone who wronged her like this. ”

Dirk scoffed and leaned against the wall, unimpressed. 

“Hm. I was unaware you knew about this. But go ahead and tell Jane if you want, she already knows everything. I paid her compensation for everything and we are still on good terms. I can’t say the same with Jake, I’m fairly sure that dolt is still mad at us for the whole arrangement, not that he can do anything about it.”

You stood there, dumbfounded, your one way out snatched away beneath your feet. Dirk pushed away from the wall, closing in on you.

“He is a weak king, and I have no doubt that John will be as well.” he continued.

You didn’t want to hear what he had to say anymore. 

“You are scum,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I already knew this, but the depth of your depravity astounds me. If you think that I’ll accept to be a simple pawn in your senseless power games, you are sorely mistaken.” 

He stood in front of you, straight-backed and maddeningly composed, while his eyes conveyed the full weight of his words, this finality.

“The only thing making you a pawn, Rose, is the fact that you refuse to collaborate willingly. I have great admiration for your intelligence, and if you would only work with me, the control we could have on this kingdom would be unparalelled. Think about it. Isn’t it a small price to pay, to accept to do your marital duties with someone who is not of your choosing? It would be your fate anyway. “

You were absolutely boiling with rage, every last shred of doubt you may have had about this man not being powerhungry and evil turning to dust. 

“If marriage and producing heirs is such a small, insignificant price to pay for power in your eyes, then why didn’t you do it? Why do you expect of me things you never did yourself?”

Dirk sighed, and for a brief second you suspecr that the scorn in his eyes was not all against you.

“For your information, I had considered marriage, long ago. It may not have been out of love, but how could I have not wanted an alliance with the woman who was set to inherit the most powerful duchy in the Kingdom? Combined with mine, we could have had so much power. The Kingdom as a whole would have been ours." He lamented. It was almost like he was on a stage, as if his audience was captured by his sad tale instead of cursing his existence. "But instead of me, she chose this handsome pushover of a King, which she still owes me for. I understand her choice, I fell for Jake’s charms just as well as she did, but she still made the mistake or marrying for lust." He fixed his gaze back on you. "I wouldn’t have made that mistake, and I won’t let you make this mistake either. If I have to drag you kicking and screaming to the altar, then so be it. You are an embarrassment to all the goodwill I’ve shown you through your entire life, Rose, and this is the least I expect of you.”

Finally, sonething inside you snapped.

“Goodwill? You call what you did to my father goodwill? You call projecting your repressed ambitions on me goodwill? You think adding personal vendetta to your motivations makes you any more sympathetic to me?”

You almost felt like breaking down. Not only were desperately failing to negotiate your way out of a hasted marriage, but you were discovering in your protector an even more petty, pathetic and manipulative man than before. Words could not convey the deluge of wrath you felt.

You raised your arm to strike him, but he caught it with lightning fast reflexes. With a painful grip on your wrist, he pulled you in ever closer, his face inches from yours. 

“I am not even in the  _ vicinity _ of playing around, young lady. I have been more than complacent with your antics already. When Roxy opposed my ideas about what to do with you, it was a piece of cake to get rid of him. Don’t think I will let you ruin it all now.”

“Him? You mean my father?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about the great wizard, you little pest. Or about where you come from. There is a lot you don’t know that I could tell you, trust me. Maybe if you proved to me that you were a little more mature, I could tell you, but let’s say that right now you haven’t deserved it.”

The expression of his face stayed neutral, but the glare in his eyes was downright sadistic, making you feel like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on your head. 

“ I know you. Maybe if you’re really nice, and do everything I say, after you’ve popped out a few princes, I’ll consider you an ally again, and tell you some of my secrets. There are things about your father you won’t find in any of his notebooks.”

“Have you considered that, after something like this, I could never consider you an ally? What makes you think I would trust you?" hissed.

“Enough, Rose. Are you going to marry John like a good girl, or do I need to take away your toys and lock you in here until you break?”

He started twisting your already painful wrist.

“I’ll marry him,” you said, realizing that there was no way you could change his mind at this point. “Just let me go!”

“Good,” he said, finally releasing you, triumphant. “I’ll go tell Jane you happily accepted.”

You could only watch him go, massaging your painful wrist. It didn’t hurt nearly as much, though, as it had to yield to this wretched man. You had no choice, though, as being locked up would have drastically hindered your plans, and on top of that, your escape. 

While you had failed to negotiate your way out of a hastened wedding--a thing you had little chances of doing anyways--the conversation hadn’t been a complete waste of time. 

You saw it in his eyes, in his rage born of failure. Despite his claims, he did not account for everything. He refused to tell you his secrets, but knowing that they were there was enough for you to figure them out. You had a guess, based on a mysterious tarot reading you had had for weeks, which, if it was true, could be your salvation.

You went ahead and took your pendulum from your shelf. With some chalk, you drew a circle on the floor and lit up some sage to help you focus. 

Your pendulum was partially hollow, and in the little cavity meant for it, you inserted just the pendant part of your amber necklace. After some incantations, you finally asked your question:

“Is the person who gave me this necklace still alive?” 

Your heart skipped a beat when your pendulum oscillated yes. 

“Could I find him?”

Yes again. 

Your gaze drifted back to your chest, which you had been rifling through right before being interrupted. Instead of choosing something fit for a party, you retrieved something fit for travel. You had already planned to leave, but you were still hesitant, not knowing where you could go. You no longer had any hesitation, and in fact, you were convinced you should leave as soon as possible.


	5. Spa day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for your support on the last chapter! I hopethat ya'll will enjopy this one just as well. it's got BOYS and its got BATHS so I think you should.

It was not on purpose that the thought of Dave had imprinted upon your mind like this, but it just had. From the moment that you'd first seen him, he was like no one you'd ever seen before. Obviously, his traits stood out from the crowd, but the intense skillfulness with which he had been dueling hadn't hurt. For better or worse, he had the qualities of a fairytale character, and it fascinated you.

You worked long days at the bathhouse, and it was hard for you to find any time or space to practice the forms Dave taught you, but nevertheless, you cherished his gifts dearly.

There were not many men working at the bathhouse. Only three, in fact. The first was the son of the owner, a dreamy troubadour of a man in his thirties. While he performed some of the same tasks you were given, he'd spend a fair amount of his time busking and entertaining guests with stories of fair maidens and dragons, and the knights who would challenge them. You were never ashamed to admit to listening in whenever you could.

The second was the cook, ever so slightly older than you. He was mute, and marred by smallpox scars, so it was easiest and likely most comfortable for him to work behind the scenes. When you were new to the bathhouse, he'd sometimes sneak you leftover delicacies previously meant for wealthier guests, as you hadn't really experienced anything besides bread, meat and produce from the gardens belonging to the convent. 

Most of your time, though, was spent downstairs with the bath maids, preparing baths and serving clients. Officially, your presence was justified with the idea that having a man around was convenient for some of the more physically demanding tasks of maintaining the baths, such as moving things around or fixing them, but you were pretty sure that nothing you were doing couldn’t have been accomplished by one or several of the seven maids which were your colleagues. No, you were hired because you were young and not disfigured and that your presence, filling up baths in an almost always damp linen tunic, stimulated the imagination of some clients, in the same way your feminine counterparts stimulated the imagination of most.

Your boss did not openly encourage sexual transactions within her establishment, since she desperately wanted to keep the respectable label of it. A mere ten years ago, the place had been a hotspot for debauchery, but the ruckus of horny men regularly storming the place proved inconvenient to the convent on the same street. The sisters complained so many times of harassment and obstruction of their holy activities that the city authorities threatened to shut down the bathhouse if it did not convert to a more honorable practice. The couple which was running it at the time decided to sell the place, and that’s when your current boss took over.

Although she abided by the city edict to the letter, she elected to keep in spirit at least the sensuality of the bathhouse, replacing the horny and rowdy patrons with a more discreet type of hedonists, of the kind who would not cause trouble. Her commitment to discretion in whatever sexual business was still going on within these walls was so intense that even you weren’t fully aware of how far it could go behind closed doors.

She had taught you to look out for those whose stare lingered on you, to give them more attention, to scrub their backs and to converse with them. A few times, she hinted that she wouldn’t stop you from doing more if you fancied a little off-the-books extra income, so long as you kept your mouth shut. You hadn't taken her up on it.. yet. 

The majority of your patrons were knights, merchants, tradesfolk and their family, and occasionally bankers and traveling nobles. While most were content with staying in the main room, with its five tubs, three tables and large brick stove, some preferred to loan one of the six private rooms, which cost the same as your daily salary. You had two and a half days off per week, officially, namely on ladies days and Sunday morning for mass. But in truth, you still typically performed at least some tasks even on your days off.

Despite the offer you'd made, you had very little hope of actually seeing Dave show up here anytime soon. He'd been very gracious to you, and friendly, sure, but he belonged to a different world. Your time with him, and everything you'd witnessed, would most likely simply remain a tall tale for you to tell your skeptical colleagues. You had been inside the keep and seen the heir freshly wounded, held front row seats to the most sensational event in recent history, and despite your inexplicable new tunic and wooden sword and shield, at least half of the bathhouse thought that you had made up most of it.

On this day, you were busy stuffing the main stove with wood, to heat up the pots of water which would soon be poured into the baths when your boss called out to you.

You turned to see behind her none other than Dave, along with Prince John, which made your jaw drop.

“These lovely gentlemen specifically require your service. Would you be so kind as to show them the way to their room? I believe that the west room would be perfect for them.”

“Y-yeah, I will,” you stuttered.

She smiled at you, clearly entertained by how flustered you were, then left the two of them to you.

“Doesn’t the Heir have a bath in his castle?” you asked Dave, surprised and confused. 

“I do,” John answered, “But Dave thought going out in town would be good for me. I have been secluded for much too long. Besides, I need to get myself clean for tonight.”

“Oh, yes, the banquet,” you recalled. You'd heard some of your wealthier regulars mention it earlier in the week. “I guess that makes sense.”

“So, are you going to show us to our room, or not?” Dave asked, feigning impatient but mostly just looking smug. Like that wasn't the Heir to the goddamn kingdom standing in front of you. Just because  _ he  _ happened to be best buds with him didn't mean everyone else felt as normal in his presence. 

Speaking of status, you had never before seen Dave dressed in such fancy clothes like he was wearing now, so unlike the practical training getup he'd worn before. To see him so clean and well-put-together, in a carmine red doeskin wool garb, was almost disconcerting, as though he was suddenly standing three feet taller than the last time you saw him.

Resisting the urge to rib Dave in the presence of royalty, you simply nodded and led them upstairs. Dave was being especially attentive to John, as he moved slowly, one step at a time, due to his still recovering state. While you understood and admired the compassion, you suddenly felt a weird tightening in your chest at the idea of all the time they had to have spend together in the last few weeks, while you were here, busy fantasizing about getting to spend more time with Dave. It wasn't a welcome feeling, and you internally cursed yourself for it.

You should have just been happy. After all, he did show up against all your expectations. Except, of course, defying your expectations even further, he had brought someone along with him, who was apparently also the main reason he even came here in the first place. You had met this man twice in your life, weeks ago, and yet a bitter jealousy tugged at your throat. Unamused with your unwarranted emotions, you did your best to swallow them down and ignore them.

The West room, which in the old brothel days was called the Swan room, was a room large enough to fit a single tub and a bed. The tub, medium and wooden was already placed inside the room, although it could be moved out if necessary. It was already mostly full, as every morning before opening you and the other bath maids had to go back and forth from the well to fill all of the tubs in the house. Some would be used in the morning, others in the afternoon, and if any private room was not used for the day, it could always be used on the next. On some nights, a third bath was sometimes offered, once again with fresh water. Left on its own, the water was lukewarm at best, obviously, which was why freshly boiled water would be mixed in before use, as well as perfumes and oils for cleanliness and pleasure.

You offered your guests wine, while they were waiting for you to finish preparing the bath. When this most laborious part of your work was done, the room smelled of the fragrances in the water, and Dave and John, empty cups in hand, were looking lustfully at the relaxing soak ahead of them.

Giddy in mood, they didn’t seem to mind the wait as they talked cheerfully. John seemed utterly mystified by bathhouses, and quite naïve of the kind of activities which would happen in them. Dave on the other hand, was more than happy to relate the raunchier stories which he had himself heard second or third hand.

“I can’t believe you brought me to a place like this!” John said, nervous.

“Don’t worry, no one has to know. Besides, I can promise you there is no better Woman of No Honor than Karkat,” Dave said jokingly. “He’ll take good care of your virginity.” You immediately shot him a sharp, disbelieving look, not sure whether you should be angry or just utterly floored. Dave, of course, laughed even harder upon meeting your eye. You settle for both.

“Nooooo,” John lamented, cheeks coloring a bit, but it seemed to be more due to Dave's teasing than a genuine belief he was being coerced into homosexual activity. His dramatics apparently caused him to move the wrong way, and he yelped in pain.

“Careful,” Dave told him, hands shooting up as if to steady his friend. “Your mother is going to kill me if I don’t bring you back in one piece.”

“Well, the bath is ready,” you announced, hoping it would shake the subject. “Let me help you out of your clothes,” you offered, walking towards them.

“I’m good,” Dave said. “I can do it myself. Go help John instead.”

You nodded and helped John out of his expensive blue coat, with a bit of trouble. He was stiff as a staff, and apparently couldn’t raise his arms all the way above his head. You tried to pull a bit harder, getting impatient, but he just yelped out again. 

“Put your arms up!” you told him.

“I can’t!” John whined, doing nothing else to help you. 

“Well then, get up or something! It wouldn’t hurt you like this if you had an ounce of forethought!” 

You regretted it almost immediately, suddenly remembering that you were talking to the imperial heir. You froze, suddenly feeling very anxious for your job and also your head. 

Right up until Dave burst out laughing. 

“I told you John; this guy is incredible,” he wheezed. 

“He’s a little bit rude if you ask me, but if you like him then good for you,” John replied, frowning but not seeming especially offended. Not the murderous kind anyway. 

You stole a glance back at Dave, who was pulling himself together from his outburst, and also happened to already be partially undressed. You quickly avert your gaze as Dave took off his shift, ashamed of the emotion you knew his body would make you feel; a thing that unfortunately happened more than you would have liked with young and attractive men. His guests continued their conversation, unaware to your internal suffering. 

“Maybe, but he’s rude in a funny way, and I think he’s still genuinely trying to help,” Dave said, getting into the tub.

“You don’t need to talk about me like I’m some kind of hopeless puppy,” you said, still pretty relieved that you weren’t going to get into trouble, and letting more of yourself slip through. "Not to mention as if I'm not here."

You had finally gotten John out of his outer layers and realized that you would even have to help him out with his shift. Normally the guests would take these off out of your sight to preserve some privacy, but in this case it couldn't be helped. Once that was done, you and Dave, who had already gotten in, helped John keep his balance as he stepped over the rim and carefully lowered himself into the tub.

“Yeah, that scar is pretty awesome,” Dave remarked, brushing his hand against John’s wound a few centimeters under the water. “Like, I’m not trying to say it’s great because obviously it hurts like a bitch and you almost died and I would have hated that, but you’ve got to admit it’s still pretty badass, right Karkat?”

"As badass as it can get when you got it from being stabbed." You retorted. Dave snorted loudly, and John splashed water in his face before shooting you another dirty look over his shoulder. Though, luckily, he was clearly trying to suppress a smile there.

“What about your thigh?” you asked Dave, kneeling down next to the tub, at John's side. “You must still have a scar from that.”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” he said. “But that’s not really impressive.”

Of course, it was rather easy to see the entirety of their body in the water, and you maybe slipped in looking down where Dave’s scar would be, in lingering your gaze for just a tad too long, on his body’s fascinating color and shape, and on his muscles. Shit, don't let him notice you dumbass! 

“I’m sure you’ll get your own quasi-mortal wound someday, don’t lose hope,” you said, acting like you didn't just almost peer at his privates like a creep. You worked in a bathhouse and it should've been normal to you to see people naked, but you supposed it was different when it was people you actually knew. 

Dave and John both laughed at your weak platitude. 

“So, Karkat, how long have you worked here?” John asked.

“Three years,” you answered plainly. “Trust me though, being a  _ Woman of No Honor _ is the best thing that has happened to me yet," you told him, emphasizing the title Dave had so graciously given you earlier.

You picked up a sponge and dipped it into the bath water. Soaping it up, you then began to wash up John’s shoulders and back, which you already knew he could not easily reach.

“So, is what Dave said true? Are all bathhouses brothels?” He asked, turning his head your way as far as he could. Which luckily for you was not far enough for him to see you roll your eyes.

“Not all of them. Just some. You need a special license to offer that kind of service. You must live a pretty secluded life to not know that.”

“Oh, trust me, he does,” Dave sighed, resting his elbows on the edge of the tub.

“Have you ever been to a bathhouse before?” you asked him.

“Well, no,” Dave said, “But I know what they’re like.”

“Do you now?” You asked, moving on to wash his shoulders and neck next. 

You were playing with fire and you knew it, but this, like anything you did, was thoroughly impulsive, and you weren’t quite able to stop yourself. You had seen enough to call him out on his bullshit. 

“Maybe you fight pretty good, but I think that deep down you’re just as innocent as your friend," You accused him. Dave made a weird sort of half-scoff, half-snort, but you ignored him, intent on not giving him a chance to retort. "I may not be a prostitute, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t seen or heard my share of dirty secrets.”

Dave perked up at this, sitting up straighter and turning around in the bath to face you. His face was kind of close. 

“Fuck yeah, I love dirty secrets,” he said, conspiratorially. “Is there anything you can share with us?”

“No!” you told him, indignant, shuffling back from the tub a bit. “What kind of unprofessional gossip do you take me for?”

“What if we traded a secret for a secret?” Dave suggested. “Neither of us has to tell anyone else.”

“Are you even capable of keeping a secret, Dave?” John teased. “I bet that the whole castle will know where you brought me today before the end of this week.”

Dave was clearly surprised by the tables being turned on him so quick. “I’ll tell them that I, uh, we went shopping?” Dave stuttered. 

“Oh, never mind then, Karkat, you can  _ definitely _ trust this guy,” John told you with a smirk. 

“I don’t trust either of you. Besides, I don’t need your secrets, I already know what the both of you look like naked,” you say matter-of-factly. 

“Oh, I bet you like it,” Dave winked. 

“Fuck off!" you shout, a little too quickly. Fuck! "I was clearly implying that I could tell anyone how small your dicks are, and they would believe me."

“You think we’re small?” John asked, seeming genuinely worried.

“God, I was just saying I could spread the rumor if I wanted, regardless of the answer! I have power over you in that regard now!”

“Okay, but how would you rate our size? Like, since you see a lot of dicks every day, you must know if we’re under or above average,” Dave pushed on, face frustratingly blank.

“I’m not going to rate your dicks you pervert!" You hissed, shoulders raised. "What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I’m the pervert? You’re the one who looks at dicks all day.” Dave retorted easily.

“Because it’s my job!” you yelled, momentarily losing grip on your volume. 

“I bet you’re just mad cause I’m bigger than you and you find it embarrassing.”

In a flash, your doubtless outraged expression fell away into nothingness. You said nothing as you picked up the pail of soapy water by your side, and promptly dumped it over Dave’s head.

John roared with laughter, almost choking on it and clutching his healing wound. 

Dave shook his head like a dog to get rid of the excess water in his hair, droplets flying every which way, a good amount landing on your tunic. It was pretty common for your tunic to get wet through the day, often even more than that, but at this point, in this situation, it made your frustration with Dave return full force. 

“Oh, did I make you wet?” Dave asked, smirking, “Well, guess I have to somehow, since you’re not a maiden.”

“If you don’t cut it the fuck out, I’m going to go get one, and she’ll be the one to finish off this bath with you," You warned him. 

“Oh, but if you get someone else, then you won’t be able to tell everyone how small our dicks are,” he said.

“I hope you get a tapeworm,” you snapped.

“Aw, you too,” he cooed, acting like it was somehow a good thing.

You didn’t get it. Dave was so insufferable right now, miles away from the man whose genuine worry for his friend made him seem soft and vulnerable, from the man who fought with focus and grit against a formidable opponent, or even from the distracted man he seemed to be leaning against the castle wall, so intrigued by the sights around him he didn't notice your arrival. Maybe it was the way he presented himself now, likely more focussed on entertaining his long-time friend than making nice with a potential one. It was a wild and unexpected change of pace. 

Still, you couldn’t deny that you had fun, and even felt pretty disappointed when they eventually concluded their visit and left for their banquet, and you stayed in the bathhouse, working till sundown. Despite the constant teasing and ribbing, you knew that this was another part of Dave you got to witness, and you found yourself just as you were mere hours ago, hoping he'd return so you could see what else you didn’t know about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my amazing boyfriend @sadsymphonys who did a really good job of pimping the dialogue and everything on this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not publishing for two weeks, I got a job and it was a little crazy and stuff happened, anyways, from now on I'll probably post chapters on fridays (not this one though), this one's a little short, but rest assured this fic is not dead! thank you for your patience and support, i love yall

After coming back from the baths, you didn’t immediately go back to your room. Rather, you went into the great hall with John. A copious meal was to be enjoyed that night, in celebration of the kingdom heir’s successful recovery from his wounds. Already, a smell of roasted meat was filling the air, as various notable city folks buzzed around the hall, drinking wine and playing card games.

Tomorrow, John’s attempted assassin would be beheaded in the city square. The more traditional punishment for this kind of crime was to be drawn and quartered, but John had pleaded mercy in favor of his assailant. You agreed with the measure, as it would have been, in your opinion ill-advised to pour oil on the fire of dissent the recently conquered Alternian nobility had for this government. Besides, they were a clear minority as the vast majority of the population of Alternia both recognized and approved of Jake’s reign over their land. No, what they disliked was the powerful queen, and the fact that the king had moved to her land rather than the other way around when they married, even stayed there after ascending to the throne, effectively shifting the capital south just for the opportunity to hunt more often. But nobody would dare stab John for those reasons. In fact, the people most upset with Jane and Jake couldn’t wait for John to take the throne. 

The crowd gathered in the great hall was made of allies; the mayor and his counselors, bankers, the city bishop, and a handful of small nobles from at most one or two days’ worth of travel. Accounting for wives and children, there was no more than two dozen guests in total, most of whom would return to their own dwellings by the end of the night.

Pages busied setting the table with bread and cheese, filling up the guests’ cups, as people were already starting to eat, even though none of the main meals had yet been brought out.

As you sat down at the table and retrieved your cup, asking for one of the young boys—this one maybe thirteen or fourteen—to pour you some wine. You knew the wine had been generously diluted in order to make it last the whole evening, but it was still a good wine, sweet and spiced, coming straight from a famous monastery vineyard.

The queen was pacing around the room greeting guests while Jake was being obliterated at chess by his Seneschal-Chamberlain in front of a festive audience who admired much more the King’s jovial attitude than Dirk’s carefully calculated moves.

Jade followed the game with disinterest, and as soon as Dirk had won, hardly a few minutes after you even sat down, she came over to you.

“Hey Dave, did you happen to see Rose around?” She asked, the tone of her voice suggesting she had probably been looking for her lackluster companion for a while now.

“Not since this morning,” you said, shrugging.

Even if Rose officially held the title of lady-in-waiting to Jade, just as you held the title of gentleman to John, she had always been a free spirit who would do what she pleased, regardless of duty. To be fair, neither Jade nor John were especially tyrannical towards you, allowing you copious amount of space and time for yourselves, but still. This was not the first time Jade had asked you this question, as if you would know better than her where the hell Rose was at any given moment. She could just as well have questioned you on the whereabouts of her cat.

Still, Rose would probably show up before you were too deep into your meal, as even she wasn’t the type to completely snob an entertaining feast.

Speaking of which, a hush fell onto the room as the king sat at his place at the high table along with the queen, followed by everyone who was not already sat yet. Jade sighed, and took her place at the table.

A young boy approached your table, no older than eight or nine years old, and offered you a trencher from his basket. You thanked him as a few strings of Gittern began playing, announcing the beginning of the feast.

The first course emerged, a flock of birds with many still in their feathers, including ducks, partridges, cranes and young pigeons that had been flocking around cages in the outer bailey just this morning, as well as puff pastries and fresh fruits, all of which accompanied by clouds of creamy sauce as the minstrel with his Gittern, accompanied by flute, began to sing his tale. One you knew, about a paladin who went on crusade, only to fall madly in love with a foreign princess and have his ship sink on his way back home.

About a retired soldier who had made it back home, only to be banished after a brawl with some drunken lowlifes, who had attempted to harm his wife, leaves one of them dead. The story goes to lament how even the truly virtuous can be judged to be without virtue. The man, named Poe, does eventually make his way back home to his family, which always makes John tear up. 

It was a nice tale, John’s favourite, and one that made you guess exactly what the themes of the meal courses would be. Air, for divine inspiration, Earth, for the sacred land, Fire, for the passionate love of the blasphemous knight, and water, for his divine punishment.

Fire, for both the love and protectiveness of the soldier, and water, on which he had made his way home.

You stuffed your face with poultry as the show was going on, whispering to John, “This guy’s so overly dramatic I love it”

“shhhhhh”, John told you, totally engrossed in the story.

“You’ve heard this story at least ten times, man. I know you can quote it to me by heart.”

“Maybe, but it never stops being interesting if you actually bother to listen,” he told you, pouting.

His glare was like transfixed in a way that reminded you of the few children in the room who had never heard the tale before, like the young page boy who had given you your trencher, now sat quietly halfway under a table, chewing on his leather cross necklace and listening attentively to the story. The older crowd was still listening with enthusiasm, cheering, booing and whistling at the appropriate times, but their engagement was more lighthearted, even in the tense moments.

The King was just as engaged into the spectacle as John, eating with appetite enough food to feed a peasant for a year. By his side, though, Jane’s glare could not settle down, and she whispered something into the Seneschal’s ear, who answered her in the same fashion.

The first part of the ballad ended, and as the crowd applauded, Dirk discretely got up and scuttled his way towards you. From behind you, he asked roughly the same thing Jade had maybe an hour earlier.

“Where is your sister?”

“I have no idea,” you said, now a little bit more concerned.

The sun had set by now, and it was incredibly unlikely that she was unaware the feast had begun, no matter what she might be doing. Dirk sighed deeply, radiating disappointment as he so often did. 

“Well, go find her. She needs to be here before the end of the song.”

“What? Why?” you whined, wondering why he would ask you to go and not one of the servants. Your Brother did not take well to this, and his sharp glare made you wither somewhat.

“Just go find her," He said curtly. "She is most likely just being a shrew in her room again. Make her come here, like a proper lady.”

You groaned, unhappy to be forced to leave the jolly hall just as the second part of the Ballad was under way. You really hoped you would be back in time for the third part, as it got pretty spicy and intense.

“Hey John, if there is pie, save some for me, alright?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” John responded absently, without even so much as blinking away from the show.

You sneaked out of the hall and into the inner bailey towards the old keep. From outside, you could already tell that there was no light in Rose’s room, but you made your way inside despite this. Just as you thought, there was no one there, not even good old Aradia, who had been conscripted into the King’s kitchens for the feast. You walked up the stairs to Rose’s room, mostly so you could say you gave a fair attempt at looking for her. Nothing.

You were about to close the door when you noticed something odd about her shelves. They seemed…emptier than usual. Upon closer inspection, you realized that her tarot deck was missing, as well as a few notebooks, candles, and her pendulum. Of course, she could have taken them somewhere else to practice experiments, as she often did, but somehow you felt this just wasn't the case. You opened her chest to find that all her fanciest dresses were there, only her cloak and traveling dress were missing. Once again, nothing unusual if she had gone out in town or in the forest for her experiments, yet, once again, it felt wrong.

You probably just didn’t like those clues because they essentially meant that Rose could be hiding anywhere, because you weren’t exactly in the mood to comb the whole town and forest for her. Although, that also meant that she could be lost or hurt in some way.

You cringed, and let out your breath slowly, trying to push away the thought of Rose dead and stripped of her belongings somewhere in the forest after some unlucky encounter with poachers. It was  _ Rose _ , she would never let something like that happen to her.

Before leaving the old keep, you figured you should hook by your own room on the way out, just to grab your cloak as the evening was getting chilly, in typical spring fashion. Sure, inside the hall it was warm as ever, but you knew many of these feasts to end at least partly outside, and just the walk from the old to the new keep was annoying with the chill.

That’s where you found, on top of your chest, a note and a little wooden box. You began to read.

_ "Dear Dave, _

_ Do not miss me, for my fate away is more favorable than my fate here. We will meet again someday, do not forget to follow your heart. There are things which only it can tell you. Also, my deepest apologies for leaving you behind, but you still have things to do here. _

_ P-s: I believe this token shall be of relevance to you at some point, but please do not EVER mention it to me again, or I will kill you and eat your heart right in the center of the marketplace. _

Under the note she had placed a Tarot card, the Hierophant. On his chest, she had scribbled a small symbol, a coat of arms you recognized for belonging to the Seneschal-Chamberlain.

You opened the little wooden box, to find inside a slimy clear substance. The scent of it wasn’t something you recognized, even when putting your fingers in it and then up to your nose. It was sort of…herbal? A little musky as well. What the hell? Why would you need this? You rubbed the index and middle fingers you had dipped in it with your thumb, and yep, slimy. Maybe it was a healing ointment of some sort? Why wouldn’t she have told you what it was for?

Whatever, you eventually figured, wiping your fingers on your hose. This was clearly not the most shocking thing you had just discovered. You were dumbfounded, shocked, and frankly a little scared. Why did she leave? What did this mean? Where was she now? What was Dirk going to say?

Your eyes drifted back to the Hierophant and its coat of arm. Dirk. To be fair, you also wore that coat of arms from time to time, as you were after all adopted into that family, but you knew what Rose meant by it. You remembered her expression when drawing this card, and the way that she told you again and again to follow your instincts, to make choices for yourself, and all that.

You weren’t going to tell Dirk. You weren’t going to tell anyone that you knew anything about her whereabouts, not that you even knew that much to begin with. You hid her note and the card under your mattress, but you did leave the box on the shelf just over your fireplace, as it was pretty inconspicuous anyways.

You went back to the great hall, just in time for the third course and part of the Ballad, as red glazed, spiced up meats were being served, along with a healthy refill of wine and bowls of dried grapes, cherry jams and Venus fruit syrup. There were also Hazelnuts and almonds scattered into the presentation, and on the King’s table, a pheasant dressed as a phoenix using several roosters’ worth of red and orange feathers. The Minstrel’s voice had dropped into a hypnotic honey, and the crowd was more enrapt than ever, as was being described the voluptuous beauty of the woman who would forever steal the Knight’s eternal soul. Also, John had in fact saved you some pork pie.

As you sat back down, it didn’t surprise you much that Dirk immediately bolted behind the tables to meet up with you, but it was a bother nonetheless.

“She wasn’t in the old keep,” You said before he asked you anything.

“You don’t understand. It is imperative that she be here right now. We have an announcement to make that concerns her.”

“Oh, you mean the marriage thing?” John asked, suddenly taken out of the Ballad. “Yeah, we’re not getting married.”

“What?!” Dirk and you both spat at the same time, clearly for different reasons. A few people who trying to pay attention to the show shot you disapproving stares.

“Yeah, we talked yesterday, and I asked her what she thought about the whole hurried marriage thing, and, turns out, she didn’t even know about it! She was so mad, but she told me to not worry about it, that there would be nothing done without her consent,” John supplied. 

For the tiniest fraction of a second, you saw Dirk’s face lose its composure as he muttered something along the lines of “That little…” before clenching his jaw. His knuckles went white grasping the back of your chair, and he exhaled loudly through his nose before walking back to his seat, not even giving you or Dave the courtesy of explaining what had just happened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked John.

“I thought you knew!” John said. “Besides, it was neither official nor public yet, so I figured I wasn’t supposed to talk about it too much.”

“And what about your conversation with Rose? Why weren’t you worried when Jade couldn’t find her earlier?”

“It’s Rose, I didn’t think that she would just…run away. I mean, did she even run away? Maybe she’s just doing whatever Rose shenanigans she does, and she’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I don’t think she’ll be back anytime soon,” you said, poking at your pork pie sadly.

Seeing your somber face, John swallowed guiltily and decided to once again focus on his meal.

Needless to say you could not get back into the story after that, as you halfheartedly poked at your pie for the rest of the meal. You tried to think, but you just couldn't make sense of anything.

Almost as soon as the song was over, the clanking of metal on metal replaced that of the flute and the Gittern, as Dirk and the Queen stood up, demanding the attention of the crowd.

“Dear loyal subjects,” Jane began, shooting a quick glance of uncertainty at Dirk while taking a breath. He nodded encouragingly at her. “It is my royal pleasure,” she continued, “to announce the most wonderful of news to our people. Next October, right when we shall celebrate our most bountiful harvest, so shall we celebrate the union of my son and future King with,” she swallowed, “The daughter of our most powerful and Grand Wizard, and protegee of our most wealthy and valiant Seneschal-Chamberlain, which, there is no doubt in my mind, shall secure for our kingdom a glorious dynasty of only the smartest, bravest and mightiest Monarchs for all of eternity!”

She raised her cups as surprised murmurs ran through the room, quickly overpowered by cheers and applause. Before long, John was made to stand and accosted from all sides with slaps to the back and a few racy comments, and you failed to pick up your jaw from the floor.

Jade made her way towards you, seemingly just as confused, and asked, “Dave, did you know about this?”

“Yeah, I know it’s  _ not _ gonna happen,” you answered. 


	7. strifes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Dave Bday! I've had some of these chapters in the works for a while now, but im finally able to publish them. I know i've been on hiatus for a while now, but i promise this fic isn't dead. Also super big thanks to @AivilioQuillMaster for helping beta-read! it's super motivating to have people supporting me through this nonsense story. Hope ya'll enjoy it!

There were many reasons why someone would abandon a baby; there were also many reasons why one would do so on the steps of religious institutions, as they were the ones most likely to take care of foundlings decently. Especially one with your aristocratic complexion, a dark skin that made it most likely you were the bastard of some important lord or something—even though no one ever came to claim you. It was, however, fairly rare for a boy foundling to be raised among religious women past the age of seven. Usually, you would have been transferred to a male order monastery by then, but it just so happened that the prioress of the convent you lived in had a tooth against the head of the male order in your area, and so she kept you longer than she should have. She taught you how to read, and pray, and you worked as more or less of a servant and errand boy to her and some of the other sisters in the convent.

While you were young, the quiet and routinized life of the order suited you. You benefitted from half a dozen of mother figures, their time playing with you often being the highlight of their day between prayer, chores and hospital work. You liked working in the garden on summer days and listening to the biblical tales at mass, even if they paled in comparison to the emotional journey you eventually experienced the first time you heard a courtly love ballad at Carnival, several years later.

Still, you weren’t always an easy child, and as you grew, a feeling of restlessness and confinement simmered in your chest, especially after you began wandering the city for your errands, witnessing the lives and freedoms of others. You remembered once when one of the sisters who took care of you left, how you cried all the tears in your body and yelled about how unfair it was that even the sisters who raised you could go, but not you. After that, the prioress tried to give you a little more freedom, but the damage was done.

When you were nine, you had begged the prioress to let you help her at the hospital she managed. She had eventually agreed, figuring it would help build character. You only realized what you had gotten yourself into when you first stepped in the hall to witness two sheet-covered bodies waiting to be picked up, and an unbearable smell of death that nobody else seemed to mind. Clutching the fresh bandages the prioress had previously given you, you tried not to look directly at the blood-soaked bandages and deathly pale faces which lined up on cots as you passed them. Seeing your cringing face and hesitant ways, the prioress calmly admonished you for being so squeamish, after all, she had warned you that it wasn’t a nice place, but you had insisted. It was only because of pride that you resisted your burning urge to run out of the building in that moment.

You were glad for that, though, since without that you would never have met the boy who was going to become one of your only friends your age. When you first saw him, he was feverish and thin as a twig, sweating profusely as blood-soaked bandages covered his eyes. Seeing someone your age in so much pain was disturbing, but you couldn’t look away as the prioress removed his bandages, causing him to wail in agony. One of his eyes had been slashed with something, and even without any medical knowledge you knew that he would never see with that eye again.

“Karkat, the bandages,” the prioress said impatiently, shaking you out of your preoccupation with the injury that she had just wiped clean. You apologized and handed them to her.

“How did this happen?” you asked her.

“He was trying to retrieve something from a tool shelf,” she explained. “and a precariously placed chisel fell on his face.”

You’d cringed, the mental image certainly unpleasant. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. All we can do is pray for him. And make sure that he doesn’t wallow in his own filth,” she said with confident resignation.

The boy groaned and squirmed.

“Well if I am dying, I withh it was fathter,” he slurred out bitterly. You spluttered.

“You’re not going to die, you idiot!” you exclaimed with all the confidence of youth. “I’m going to pray for you super hard and you’re going to recover completely very soon.”

He groaned again, this time in disdain.

“You‘re the idiot. You don’t get to decide what God wantth,” he spat.

His cynicism had started to annoy you.

“Well, okay, die then,” you snapped, crossing your arms and naturally earning yourself a death glare from the prioress.

“What?!” you answered her silent scorn. “I’m not going to pray for him if he doesn’t want me to do so!”

The boy exhaled in what sounded like a dry chuckle.

“Thank you,” he said. “You get it.”

“He’s clearly not in his right mind,” the prioress said, frowning. “We should probably let him rest.”

She put a wet towel on his feverish head and moved on to the next patient in need of care, and you tried to linger for a bit next to the boy, but she called you for help, so you had to follow her. You came back the next day, though, and the one following that. You didn’t much enjoy helping the sick, but you desperately wanted to know if the boy was going to die or not. It made you feel somewhat better about your lot in life, and you wondered if that’s what the prioress had wanted you to feel by bringing you here.

The boy lived, almost miraculously, after suffering a fever and an infection that took his other eye and made everyone think he was a goner. His name was Sollux, and having gone blind, he’d lost his apprenticeship as a stone carver and instead went to join a monastery, where you should have normally followed him.

Despite the friendship you had developed, by the time you reached puberty and could no longer stay among the sisters, you were still dreadfully uncertain about living a monastic life, and the prioress, knowing this, offered you an alternative.

There was a bathhouse, next to the convent, which in its expanding business was willing to hire you as a servant for various services. Since you knew how to read and write, you could help keep the books, which apparently no one else there could do effectively. While this was not a golden opportunity, it would still give you a chance at a secular life, and “away from that heathen of a Father Thomas,” as your prioress had put it. You had agreed.

Working for the bathhouse had proven at once very similar and very different from living in the convent. You still did many of the things you used to do, from fetching and heating water, to cleaning, to running errands for a group of adult women. But instead of mothers, these women became more like big sisters to you, and they certainly had a different character to them. They were much louder and had no interest whatsoever in disciplining you, notably. Just like the sisters, they had their happiness and woes, and you liked some better than others.

Growing into a man as well made its world of difference, as you were no longer making your way among a sea of crotches when wandering the city; soon, you were taller than half of the bath maids.

By age sixteen, the owner of the bathhouse had mostly learned from you how to keep her books properly. She still made you do it, as it was convenient, but your tasks became more and more like that of the bath maids, filling and refreshing baths, and catering to the bathers. She did not make you work during women’s bathtimes though, only during men’s. At first, you thought that this was simply a question of convenience, as her business was going steady and many days it was extremely busy, but at some point, she began to point to you patrons to whom you should be paying close attention, for they maybe had more interest in you than in your feminine counterparts. That’s when you realized your conversion into a bath maid had been a very purposeful move on her part.

Frequently being around men for the first time in your life was an exhilarating experience. You also got to walk around and fully take part in the city’s events. You liked nothing more than to listen to the bards and troubadours that performed there, which they also quite frequently did in your own establishment. Your mind, perhaps, had been a little rotten by chivalrous tales, but luckily, nobody seemed to mind.

Maybe they had fueled the burning admiration you had felt the first time you saw Dave in the courtyard that fateful day, so full of swiftness and grace even as he went against the man that you later realized was none other than the Seneschal-Chamberlain, widely known as the best swordsman in the whole region, if not in the whole kingdom. When you saw Dave fight, sweat on his brows, profound determination in his eyes, it just re-awakened in you this desire for the cathartic release of heated combat, for the nobility of knighthood that you had begun to think only existed in ballads.

You had used a small amount of your free time recently to try and practice swordplay, but that didn’t mean you were any good yet. It was frustrating, waving a wooden toy in the air like you did. There wasn’t any satisfaction to it, no having accomplished something complicated or daring, and you weren’t yet strong or intimidating to anyone. Your fellow bath maids leaned more towards finding it cute rather than impressive, a thing which filled you with more spite than anything. Some day, you told yourself, they would see you as a real fighter, of the same caliber as those they fawned over all the time.

This merry, early June day was not that day. In fact, this day had turned into more of an embarrassment than anything else, really, despite the fact that it had begun well enough.

You had no intentions of trying to prove yourself to anyone that day, it was execution day. The man who had tried to assassinate Prince John was to be put to death in the morning in the public square. That meant that even people from surrounding villages would show up, so naturally special events would take place, lasting well into the afternoon.

Among the out-of-town visitors was your old friend Sollux, donning his monk robes. Since he lived at the monastery, you didn’t get to see him all that often, but the older monks sometimes brought him along to town fairs and other events, as his blindness made for effective marketing of the “just nature of their cause” (which one could support by buying their produce). One of your rare moments of glory in daily life was when, once every few weeks, you came back to the bathhouse with a fresh jar of honey you bought at a discount from your friend. It never lasted long, as your colleagues liked to drizzle big spoonfuls of it on everything they ate until the jar was empty, but to you, that only made it more special.

Today, once again, Sollux sat at his stand, looking extremely bored while two of his older counterparts bartered their wares. Although he would turn twenty next year, there was no lack of adolescence lingering on his traits, from the pimples on his face to the ennui of his expression. Said expression did soften, though, when he heard your voice calling to him.

“Took you long enough, bath boy,” he smiled.

“I almost didn’t get the day off,” you explained, shaking your head. Your boss wanted the bathhouse to be open today, but all of your colleagues put their foot down and refused to work, giving her no choice in the matter. After all, this was not going to be a recurring event. You were glad, as it would have been a bummer for you to miss Sollux while he was in town.

“I withh I had the day off,” he said, still with that lisp of his. “I am tho bored.”

“Can’t you take an hour off?” you asked. “It’s not like you’re doing anything useful.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “You athk Father Thomath, because if I do, he’ll accuthe me of thloth again.”

“Yeah, okay,” you said, aware that the infamously passive-aggressive Father Thomas would be less of a hassle on you than your friend.

Father Thomas would probably have greeted you already, if he hadn’t been busy haggling theatrically with marketgoers, boasting with exaggerated gestures the good works of prayer and charity for which his monastery was responsible. The annoyed woman who had had the misfortune of lowballing her offer for a keg of ale was about to crack though, you could tell.

“Fine, fine, I’ll give you three pennies for it, but you better use at least half of that for charity,” she said.

“But of course,” Father Thomas answered her, his voice sticky and sweet. “There is no greater cause than the lord, and every penny you give us not only benefits humanity, but helps pave your way to heaven. Go in peace, my child.”

“Thank you, father,” the woman said dryly, shoving three pennies in the Monk’s hand and leaving with her keg.

Father Thomas’ permanent fake smile lingered on his face as he watched the woman go, and in a fluid motion he turned towards you, his expression unwavering.

“Young Karkat, how lovely it is to see you,” he greeted you. “I see you have once again come to corrupt my young disciple,” he said with a laugh. “No, it is truly lovely to see you, how is Mother Jeanne? Has she picked up another foundling to raise for the whore house?”

“She is doing fine,” you answered, ignoring the now-familiar jabs. If you hadn’t, you would have worsened your chances of borrowing Sollux for an hour. “She had recently caught the flu, but recovered well.”

“Oh, well, the lord works in mysterious ways, certainly,” Father Thomas said. “Well, I suppose I am glad that she has more time to atone for her sins. Tell her I oft pray for her wellbeing, and that she should be thankful for her recovery. It is never a bad thing to remember how a small prayer can make a big difference.”

You won’t tell her. God, you hated Father Thomas. Every single thing about his demeanor made you want to barf. Still, you put on your pleasant, customer-service face.

“Yes. Well, I prayed that I would be allowed to spend some time with brother Sollux today, if you would be so kind as to let me,” you asked politely.

“Prayer is good, my child. I am reluctant to abandon my charge to such frivolous activities, but I reckon your alternatives for company must be the type to leer at women and solicit prostitutes. I understand your pain,” he wailed dramatically. “You have a good heart, and it is not your fault if you must be surrounded with vice. I will graciously grant you an hour of reliable company, although it will likely cost me a great deal of donations. Go, and try not to let this world corrupt you.”

He turned to Sollux.

“Today is your lucky day, my child. Be a good influence on this boy, and make sure I do not hear of any misconduct from either of you.”

“Thank you, Father, I’ll be back thoon,” Sollux answered, already up and seeking your arm for assistance, hurried to move along and get away from his insufferable master.

“Kill me,” he whispered to you as soon as you were out of earshot from Father Thomas.

“I would, but I’m afraid he’d kill me first if I tried that.”

“Fine. Then let’th just get ath far away from here ath pothhible,” he requested. “Where do you want to go?”

“I think there’s some exhibits on the other side of the bailey,” you said, leading him through the crowd towards the barracks. You heard that some activities would take place there. You didn’t really count on it, but you hoped you would come across Dave somehow. Maybe he’d be showing off his sword fighting abilities for the entertainment of all.

First, you passed a bunch of jugglers, lingering briefly on a few as they executed reckless feats for the great amusement of passersby.

You kept wandering even deeper into the event. Close to the barracks, the two regular fighting rings were now hosting games. The first one was a sort of cock fight, with pairs of shoulder-perched contestants trying to make the other fall over, and the second one was extremely packed, to the point that it took quite a bit of elbowing to even be able to figure out what was going on.

It was one of those fighting challenges where a knight or a trained fighter of some sort would challenge laymen to a non-lethal duel with wooden weapons. It was always fun to watch how eager some overly confident jackasses were to get their asses kicked. Still, occasionally a few people managed to put on a decent fight. You had never considered doing this, as you had no special desire to embarrass yourself, although now that you had some sword fighting basics, you could consider maybe trying some day. The image of you overcoming an actual adversary of any kind felt exciting to you.

You were certainly not about to try today, however. Not only did you only have one fighting lesson under your belt, but the opponent in question was none other than the Seneschal-Chamberlain himself, which explained why the crowd gathered was so dense. How did that happen? He was the best swordsman in the kingdom, yes, but this was a little beneath him.

No matter how it happened, it certainly caught your attention.

“What the hell is going on?” Sollux asked, somewhat miffed that you dragged him through the dense crowd and didn’t even bother to explain what was going on.

“The Seneschal-Chamberlain is accepting challenges from volunteers,” you answered, eyes locked on the show, not bothering to tease him about how he swore a little too much for a monk. You did your best to describe the scene.

Despite the number of spectators, there did not seem to be all that many volunteers. It didn’t help that most fights seemed to last under a minute. One of the guards, who had thrown his hat in the ring, managed to last a little longer than that and earned quite a bit of cheering for it.

A big burly man jumped in next, quite likely emboldened by alcohol. He picked up the wooden sword and shield, and hit them together menacingly, daring the Seneschal-Chamberlain to come and fight him.

He didn’t need to ask twice. Much smaller than his opponent, the Seneschal had him on the ground within ten seconds.

“Well, he sure was a dumbass,” you said, shaking your head. “He's clearly never even held a sword before.”

“Becauthe you have?” Sollux asked sceptically.

“A little,” you said, suddenly distracted by a flash of bright hair from the other side of the ring.

He was somewhat separated from the crowd, in a little time-out area which had been prepared to let the Seneschal unwind between matches—though he probably didn't need to, given how short they were. Dave was wearing red again, the same fancy tunic he had been wearing that time he came to your bathhouse. He wasn’t looking at you.

You stared in his direction a bit, hoping your gazes would meet at some point, but no luck. He did turn his head your way, but his eyes didn’t land on you. You decided to try to hail him, raising your hand and smiling in his direction.

“Oh, a volunteer?” The Seneschal said, and you realized the mistake you had made.

“What? Me? No! not at all! I was just uhh…” you said, backing away slightly. Sollux's eyebrows raised and he snickered, realizing he was talking about you.

But the crowd wouldn’t let you leave. The Seneschal stepped a bit closer to you, almost deviously.

“Are you sure? Even if you lose, I’ll recognize that you have guts. I promise to not hurt you too much.”

“I, uh...” you trailed off, realizing that Dave was now finally seeing you from the other side of the ring. Of course he was.

Murmurs of encouragement started to emerge from the sadistic crowd, which had decided your fate for you.

"C'mon then KK, thow thothe idioth how to hold a thword," Sollux taunted you, grabbing onto the fencing to make sure he'd not get pushed about in the crowd or something. You swallowed, but found yourself suddenly filled with raging determination to avoid the embarrassment of being labeled a coward. You jumped into the ring and grabbed the sword and shield.

You tried to get into the best position you could, bending your knees in a wide stance and holding everything correctly. Dave was watching you, after all, his expression neutral but his knuckles white from gripping the wooden fence on the side of the ring. For a brief second, you were a heroic knight fighting to the death for the honor of your love.

And then.. you don’t remember.

Afterwards, you were told you lasted at least fifteen seconds, but all you knew is that you ended up on your back, with fucking Dave hovering above you like the ghost of stupid decision-making come to haunt you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” you said without even thinking about it. You closed your eyes again. Your head was spinning and throbbing painfully and your tongue felt like a bunch of loose sand in your mouth.

“Hey, Kar..uh, dude. Buddy. Wake up,” Dave said, tapping your cheek.

You heard a mix of voices, some laughing, some speaking in growing concern, but you were fine. Probably. You groaned and reluctantly opened your eyes again. Dave was still there. You turned your head, seeing the crowd around you. Slowly, memory of how you got into this arena was starting to come back to you. Oh, cringe.

“Can you get up?” Dave asked you.

You didn’t answer, but you did sit up. Everything was spinning and the afternoon light felt far too brash for your poor head.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Dave said, helping you up.

You were somewhat unsteady on your feet, but managed to stay upright and wobble your way out of the ring in a troublesome haze, with some help from your good Samaritan. He brought you into a quiet shaded area, which was a huge relief. He sat you down on a bench, and you realized that it was the same bench where you had first approached him. This bit of the yard, enclosed between the barracks and the outer wall, had been partially blocked off for the occasion with a large stand, allowing it to be perhaps even more tranquil than usual. Although maybe it just felt really quiet in contrast to the bustling noise of the rest of the courtyard.

“Looks like it’s my turn to help you recover from one of those Goddamned strifes,” Dave said, his face seemingly softening as the two of you were now alone. “You made quite a scene out there.”

It took you a while to process his words, and even longer to gather yours. “Trust me, next time I’m just going to be a coward. At least that way my fucking.. think pan would hurt a lot fucking less,” you groaned. Dave snorted, seemingly amused by your poor state. Fuck this guy.

The spinning in your head was fading a little, and at least now you could make sense of words. Being sat down and in the shade also helped you a lot. You leaned against the cold wall and closed your eyes again.

You felt Dave leaving your side shortly after, returning with a cup full of water and guiding it to your lips to drink. It felt great washing down your throat, cool like the shade, and you asked him for more. He quickly got more, but when he went to guide it to your face again, you yanked it out of his hand and poured it over your head instead, sighing with relief. He laughed, and although your head still hurt like a bitch, you did the same.

“I have got to give it to you, it takes balls to try to fight my brother after a single fighting lesson.” He said, shoulders still shaking.

“Listen," you exclaimed, "I wasn't trying to volunteer, I was trying to get your attention, okay?”

Dave's brows shot up, still grinning at you. “Well, it certainly worked out!" He shot back, leaning against the wall next to you. "Although maybe next time, you can take it down a notch, just a little.”

“No, I mean really, I didn’t want to fucking fight him, the Seneschal just.. he,” you faltered, kind of embarassed that you'd let yourself be goaded into a fight you had no way of winning.

“No, I know what you mean, he's like that," Dave reassured you. "He wouldn’t go easy on me even when I was just a kid. He’d call me a wimp for not enjoying my training lessons."

He shook his head at the floor, then went back to watching his brother in the ring. Yet another chump had accepted the challenge, and the Seneschal-Chamberlain seemed to be making quick work of him, and yet, he looked almost bored.

"Sometimes, I’m starting to wonder if there’s something seriously wrong with him,” He said finally.

“Yeah, no shit dumbass, ugh," you responded immediately. You leant forward and rested your head in your hands, the throbbing in your head still going strong.

“Are you okay?” He checked again, voice soft.

“Headache,” you groaned quietly.

“Yeah, I’ve been there," he said, and you felt him nudge you gently with his shoulder. He sighed. "If Rose were there, I'd ask her to give you something, but, well…"

“What's wrong with Rose?" you asked, turning your head to look at him, frowning. "Is she feeling sick? I heard she wasn’t at her engagement’s announcement yesterday. Speaking of which, congratulations.”

“She.." Dave hesitated for a moment, finding his words. "it’s complicated,” is what he settled on. Your frown deepened, taking in his uneasy expression, not having expected anything serious to have been going on. He met your stare, looking back at you for a few moments before breathing in deeply and leaning in closer.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked, and you nodded quickly, jostling your poor brain in its shitty bone prison and making you flinch, but you nodded your head once more, slower. You had no idea why he'd tell you a secret, but you supposed that even if you were a total blabbermouth, nobody would believe you anyway.

It all came out of him in a rush. “She’s gone. To God knows where. Took her shit, left a note, and also left me behind. I think that’s why my brother decided to beat up rando's today, actually. It wasn't planned, but he was just so angry. I know from the outside he looks just as indifferent to everything as usual, but trust me, I know him.”

Your mouth hung slack with shock. Prince John's betrothed fleeing the castle, you couldn't fathom it. Dave kept talking, sounding dejected.

“Rose didn’t want to get married yet, I guess. I mean, she was always supposed to marry John, but I guess she would have preferred if the old man kicked the bucket first, so she wouldn’t be his puppet. I know Rose better than anyone and I can’t figure out where she went or why exactly. It’s just…puzzling," he trailed off, looking in part frustrated, but mostly just sad. You felt the urge to comfort him, hug him maybe, but settled for bumping him with your shoulder like he had done earlier. He smiled at you sadly, and returned the gesture before sighing deeply.

"I hope she’s alright.”

“Yeah, me too,” you agreed.

“Thanks," he said earnestly. "Sorry, this was probably a lot for you, but I really needed to get that off my chest. I couldn't tell anyone in the castle, because if my brother knew what I know, I’m afraid she would be in real danger,” he said, confirming your earlier assumption that you were a relatively safe bet. Despite this, the fact that he trusted you with something so big filled you with warmth.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. From what I've heard so far, this guy is the worst. I don’t blame your sister for not wanting to end up as his puppet. Though I heard she takes after the Wizard, so I'm sure she'd have enough importance of her own. I hope she comes back," you finished, your headache becoming too distracting to say anything else coherent.

"Fuck, it's like some asshole is squeezing my brain like a grape," you complained.

“You should probably get some rest,” Dave suggested. “That’s what Rose always tells me.”

“Ugh. I guess I’ll see if I can get someone to cover my shifts. I am not counting on it, though.”

“You know, I was wondering…” Dave started. He stopped though as a figure began to approach the two of you, waving his blind stick in front of him.

“Karkat?” he asked tentatively. “People told me you were here.”

Upon hearing his voice, your blood ran cold for a second. “SOLLUX! Shit, I fucking forgot you!" You quickly jumped up and nearly pounced on him, naturally making your head spin and throb angrily once more. "Holy fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’th fine. I with I could have theen you get your ath kicked out there, hehehe," Sollux laughs, and you hit him in the shoulder, which just makes him laugh at you harder.

"But theriouthly, I’m glad you’re not dead. and I hope father Thomath never hearth about thith.”

“Goddamnit, Father Thomas! I need to get you back to him!”, you say, dragging your hands down your face before hooking your arm through his.

You turned back to Dave.

“Thank you for everything,” you said sheepishly, over your shoulder. “I hope I'll see you again.”

Dave rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” he said, making you turn around to face him once again. “I was going to ask if you’d like to, you know, train again sometime. I don’t want you to do stupid things again, but if you are going to, the least I can do is make sure you get a little better at it at least.”

Your heart jumped in your chest at the thought. God, you really had a tendency to make friends in the weirdest places, but you weren’t going to complain in the case of Dave. There was just something about him. Right now, you had to admit your first real combat experience hadn’t exactly made you want more, but whatever. You still had a lot to learn, and besides, you couldn’t possibly turn down an opportunity to see Dave more often.

“Um, Yeah, I’d like that,” you answered, trying to sound casual. “Same place, same time?”

“Yeah!” Dave answered, nodding enthusiastically before seeming to catch himself on it, and stoically nodding once more. What a dork.

"Thoundth like thomeone'th got a date," Sollux commented once a little distance away, not even feeling the need need to wait for you to protest before laughing maniacally.


End file.
